


Slytherin Harry and The Order of The Phoenix

by Authormitchel



Series: SlytherinHarry [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Deamus, Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Harry Potter redo, Harry Potter rework, Love, M/M, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin!Harry, redo, romione, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authormitchel/pseuds/Authormitchel
Summary: I won’t bore you with the details about why I have been so long absent. I will merely remind you of the characters that you know and love.In this house, we STAN one goddess and her name is Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione is a boss. Pansy is multifaceted. Blaise is a smoke show, and is really trying to be good, and isn’t that all we can ask? Wolfstar is a thing, and is not only a ship, but is THE main ship, not necessarily in this fic, but in my heart.And we have Drarry.Harry has been put into Slytherin against his initial wishes, but he is making the best out of it. Draco is a little ponce, but he tried to do a bit better last year during the Triwizard Tournament. Too bad, the tournament happened, and any chance of Harry’s rise to fame as the Slytherin Champion of Hogwarts was thwarted by Voldemort’s return, and the death of Cassius Warrington. Now, Harry is sleeping in a room full of vipers, but will Draco turn out to be more than just another torturer. He is a Malfoy after all. And Malfoy’s always get what they want.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Millicent Bulstrode/Fred Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin
Series: SlytherinHarry [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/867507
Comments: 117
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAdorableShipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAdorableShipper/gifts).



> I won’t bore you with the details about why I have been so long absent. I will merely remind you of the characters that you know and love. 
> 
> In this house, we STAN one goddess and her name is Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione is a boss. Pansy is multifaceted. Blaise is a smoke show, and is really trying to be good, and isn’t that all we can ask? Wolfstar is a thing, and is not only a ship, but is THE main ship, not necessarily in this fic, but in my heart. 
> 
> And we have Drarry.  
> Harry has been put into Slytherin against his initial wishes, but he is making the best out of it. Draco is a little ponce, but he tried to do a bit better last year during the Triwizard Tournament. Too bad, the tournament happened, and any chance of Harry’s rise to fame as the Slytherin Champion of Hogwarts was thwarted by Voldemort’s return, and the death of Cassius Warrington. Now, Harry is sleeping in a room full of vipers, but will Draco turn out to be more than just another torturer. He is a Malfoy after all. And Malfoy’s always get what they want.

Harry no longer has dreams about graveyards. 

Instead, he dreams about Ely chatting in the halls to a group of people, Warrington lying dead at his feet. No one notices the large boy splayed on the stone floor of Hogwart’s hall. 

No one glances at him, but Harry can’t look away. Before Eli heads to class he bends over and ruffles Warrington’s hair affectionately. 

Harry doesn't dream of Voldemort either, with his snake like face staring down at him as he holds the cruciatus curse at his writhing form. Instead, he dreams of people with different colored ties grabbing him, pulling at his clothes and hair, shouting accusations at him, blaming him for killing Cassius Warrington. 

Harry keeps quiet, because maybe he did kill the older boy after all. The sinking feeling in his stomach would certainly suggest so. 

Then, Hermione is dead at his feet, and Millicent is standing beside him.

“I'm almost glad you did the Mudblood in. She was getting a little annoying if you know what I mean. Not to mention the other lot,” she says, as she leads him to the Great Hall where hanging from an endless starry sky are the lifeless bodies of everyone he loves. Remus. Sirius. Ron. Blaze. Neville. Seamus. Eli. Fred. George. They're all dead and this time there's no one to help him fight off the crowd of people that are clamoring for his blood. 

When he wakes with a scream, he is sure that he has woken everyone on Pivet Drive. Harry lays there, panicked and covered in sweat, his body twitching violently. Harry waits for and listens for the sound of Uncle Vernon’s heavy footsteps rushing to punish him, but instead of harsh footsteps, stuttering rage, and slamming doors Harry hears his bedroom door open slowly and a familiar voice that casts, “Lumos.” 

And Harry remembers where he is and who he is with. They may be back in England, but like Remus and Sirius have continually stated, he will never have to go back to Pivet Drive again. Remus rushes to Harry's bed. It's only been a day or so after the full but the man moves quickly to his side. He casts a cooling charm on the room, and summons a cool wet rag for Harry’s face. 

“Sirius always was a heavy sleeper,” the man drawls. “He would fall out of bed sometimes, and it would take both your father and I to lift him back in bed. He wouldn’t so much as flutter an eyelid.” 

Harry sits up in bed with Remus’ help. 

Harry tries to laugh it off, but the nightmare won’t leave him. 

“Is there a patronus that takes care of nightmares too?” Harry asks the man who taught him the original charm.   
Remus sighs. 

“I wish, pup, if there were I think we would all be better rested.” 

Harry nods. 

“Would you like me to wake Sirius?” 

“No,” Harry answers, too quickly by the look on Remus’s face. He couldn’t explain it to anyone that asked, but accepting help from Remus and accepting help from Sirius felt different. Perhaps it had to do with Remus being his former professor or maybe it was because with Sirius everything was so personal. He didn't want Sirius to see him weak, but with Remus, he knew that this man knew what it was like to be at your lowest and still want the world to know you're fine.   
And Harry was fine. He was. Remus looked as if he could hear Harry’s thoughts. He reached for his wand again and said, “Expecto Patronum” And a large silvery wolf exploded out from his wand. The wolf paced the room for a second before settling himself beside Harry's bed. 

“If you need anything, just tell him and I'll be right here.” 

Harry nodded in thanks. Remus smiled at him kindly and squeezed his shoulder. 

“Try not to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You're still young, Harry, let us handle things for a while longer. Ron and Hermione will be here tomorrow. And,” 

“Right, right”, said Harry. “It will be nice to see them again.” 

Remus moved to the door and pulled it shut, leaving it cracked just a little allowing the light in the hall to mix with his Patronus. Harry closed his eyes, feeling the presence of both his godfathers near him. 

Harry had been traveling with Sirius and Remus all summer. With the Black family fortune at their disposal, they had traveled to places Harry never thought he would get to go, France, Milan, Switzerland, Belgium, even Norway. Honestly, it was a dream come true. And the best part wasn't even the travel, it was spending time with Sirius and Remus. The two were so incredibly in love and truly happy. It was something Harry had never experienced before. Harry had always been on the outside of the perfect family, present but not included, whether with the Dursleys or even at the Burrow. Here, for the first time in his life, Harry felt essential to the happiness of others. It didn’t matter if they were never in any one place for more than a week, Harry felt like he was home. 

Plus, Harry can honestly say that he had never had more fun. Sirius, as a newly freed man, was living life to its fullest. He was jumping in the Trevi fountain. He was making plans to run with the bulls. He was lighting fireworks sent to them by Fred and George. He was eating croissants in France and spaghetti in Italy. He was gaining weight and he looked happy. No longer did the haunted look of Azkaban plague his handsome face. And when the cool air and frightened facade did threaten his gaze, Harry or Remus were always there to pull him back. It was nice to see him free. Harry contemplated seriously on having Sirius escort him back to school on day one. Maybe he could even convince Fred and George to sneak him into Gryffindor tower under the cloak. It would be nice to see the man back in what Sirius called his natural environment.   
“The Marauders would almost be back together again, this time with a few new members,” Sirius had said thinking of Harry’s loyal band of misfits. “It would be like old times.” Harry closes his eyes, and drifts back to sleep. 

He dreams again, not of graveyards, but of Pivet Drive. It’s a normal evening. Vernon is asleep on the couch, grunting and snoring so loudly you can barely hear the nightly news playing on the television behind him. Dudley is at the kitchen table eating his pre-bed snack. Tonight, it looks to be a slice of chocolate cake topped with whipped cream and two cherries. Dream Harry rolls his eyes. Aunt Petunia is in the kitchen, shining a the “good” china. They must be expecting more of Vernon’s work colleagues this weekend.   
Harry is just about to force himself to wake from this odd and frankly tiresome fever dream when he feels a rush of cold across his back. Petunia, he notices, must feel it to because she turns toward the front door. The wind forces the outside metal bins to fall sideways, and their sound startles Vernon awake. 

“Wwhhatt was tha…?” 

“Sorry, Vernon, love, the weather station didn’t mention a storm tonight.” 

Another noise startles the company inside the house. 

“I’ll just go and put them back,” Petunia says. She moves forward, but then the lights flicker, and the hair on Harry’s arm stand up straight. 

Something is wrong. 

Harry hears the swooshing of long robes, and turns. 

He knows that the Dursleys will never see them, but he can. 

Harry wakes with a start, and shouts at the Patronus. “GET THEM!!! GET THEM NOW!!!”

***  
By the time that Harry, Sirius, and Remus get to Pivet Drive, the front door has been blown in, and the bushes and flower beds that Harry spent long summers tending look like they have been demolished by a nasty wind storm. Every other cookie cutter house on Pivet Drive looks as pristine as always. Harry dashes forward a few feet before Sirius can grab him, and is instantly tossed to the ground by the solid black mass of a dementor. The dementor wastes no time in beginning to suck the happy memories from Harry’s body as two more fly out of the Dursley’s house, and head to Remus and Sirius. 

Harry fights to get his wand out of his pocket, but the dementor has more to feed on this year than his kind did two years ago. Harry can hear a body hit the ground, and agonizing screams fill the air, and he knows that it is Sirius. 

He manages a firm grip on his wand, and casts, “Expecto Patronum!” The dementor is pushed back, and Harry directs his stag toward Sirius. The stag joins a wolf there to stand sentry over a prone man on the ground. Sirius turns his head slightly, and spots the wolf and the stag, and somehow manages the strength to utter two words. 

“Expecto Patronum!” 

And a big dog trots out from the end of his wand, and together the wolf, stag, and dog push back the three dementors before they fly into the night. Harry stands, and as his eyes run over his godfathers and determines that they are fine, Harry turns to the house.   
The Dursleys were dead. It was that insanely simple. Their souls. The very things that made them the vile, selfish, cruel, petty people that they were was gone. There was nothing left but empty shells. Harry wondered if he would be able to love them now that they were empty, and he cursed himself for the thought. 

The Dursleys were muggles. Wizards’ bodies could survive after a dementor’s kiss because they still had their magic. But muggles were not protected in the same way. With no soul, they would die. The victims were allowed maybe two minutes as life was snuffed from their bodies. 

Harry stood beside Petunia on the coral pink rug that she had picked out herself. He can see the pictures of Dudley on the mantelpiece, in the same place that they have always been. The nightly news is still playing on the television. Dudley’s pre-bed snack sits half eaten on the kitchen table, but the chair he was sitting in has been overturned. Everything looks the same, and Harry has the strange urge to abandoned Petunia and start cleaning everything up.   
He holds her hand, and tries not to be stiff. Harry doesn’t think she can see her, but on the off chance, he doesn’t want her to see his discomfort in her last moments. But, it was unnatural for him even when she was so close to death to be giving or taking comfort from the woman who had been his family in name only. Harry knew that she wasn’t here anymore, not really, but he had never been quite this close to her before. She had never comforted him after a nightmare or placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder after a fight with Dudley or after a bad day at school. She had never hugged him, and there was never any mention of love, only of duty. 

Maybe that’s what this feeling is, thought Harry, as he held his aunt’s hand for the last seconds of her life. Maybe this is duty or obligation, but even as Harry thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. Harry was denied affection, compassion, and love from his family that was not a family, but that didn’t mean that it stopped Harry from wanting it. He loved them even when they had never felt love for him only commitment. Now, the love was gone, and he was fulfilling a commitment. He could be here now, have this now, and then he could let them all go. 

Harry and Remus stand in the kitchen of Number Four Pivet Drive as they wait for aurors and obliviators as well as what other members of magical clean up crews decided to arrive. No one has of yet started to straighten the mess and it causes an unsettling feeling to take up space in Harry’s stomach. This was a major catastrophe, even Harry could see that. Dementors were sick, twisted creatures, and Harry knew after hearing Dumbledore speak last year that they only answered to one person, Voldemort. 

Voldemort had come for his family. No, Voldemort had come for him. The world knew that Sirius was a free man, but very few, not even the ministry, knew that Harry was no   
longer living at Pivet Drive. Dumbledore thought that it would be safer if they kept that information to only a few. 

He was right. For Harry, at least. 

“It’s all right, kiddo,” Sirius says, and Harry had no idea that he was that close to him. Sirius leans over, his hair a mess from sleep, and bags under his silver eyes as he grasps Harry hard on the shoulders. 

“I’ve received an owl. They said we could leave, for now.” 

“For now?” Harry asks. 

Sirius turns to look at Remus who shakes his head minutely. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Sirius replies. 

Harry nods. He doesn’t have it in him to ask questions tonight. 

“Okay,” Harry says. He squeezes Petunia’s hand. 

“I just have to wait,” he says. “Until she’s gone.” 

Sirius’ eyes widened. He looks down at Petunia. 

“I know you didn’t like her, but I owe it to her to wait until she can join Vernon, and….and Du…..” Harry stops. He can feel himself starting to get emotional, and he doesn’t want Aunt Petunia to see him cry. 

Remus moves to his other side, and places his hand on top of Harry’s. “Harry, Harry…”

Harry turns to look at him.

“Harry, pup, she’s already gone. She was gone before we came in.” 

Tears leak from Harry’s eyes, and he tries to stop them before they can leak onto the carpet.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I get an, "Oh, shit!"?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting. Updates will, at least, be once per two weeks. Maybe more often to keep myself sane. 
> 
> Thank you all so much! 
> 
> And Jo Rowling, I have an idea. 
> 
> All the love, my beautiful fandom family. 
> 
> Unbeta'd all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I don't own HP. I just love them.

Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Blacks, and current home of one mad black, one kind werewolf, and one grief stricken half blood. Harry’s only enjoyment is sitting in plain view of Walburga Black’s portrait and listening to her shriek. It helps him to ignore the shrieking in his own mind. Sirius asks no questions, merely raises and lowers the silencing spell as Harry asks, and has hot tea waiting for him when Harry is done. 

Harry walks into the kitchen, and picks up the steaming cup. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

Sirius smiles at him comfortingly. “No worries, kiddo. Would you like some breakfast? Moony’s made pancakes.” 

Harry walks to the table, and sits down where Remus is reading a copy of the daily prophet. He puts the paper to the side discretely. 

Harry has stopped trying to sneak peaks. He knows that the whole world is talking about him. And frankly, he couldn’t care less. Oderint dum metuant. Let them hate so long they fear. Harry doesn’t know if they hate or fear him, but he knows that either of those emotions are of no concern to him. The only people he is concerned about are in this room. 

Harry knows that the two of them have been hosting quite a few new guests, and have been writing more than a few owls, and he knows that it has to do with Voldemort, but neither of them in their preparation for war, or whatever it is that they have been doing have been in lacking in their care for him. At times, it is almost like they never left vacation.

“Hey Pads, do you think we need to do some shopping today? I thought we could go to the supermarket together?” 

“In a muggle supermarket?” Harry asked, surprised by Remus’ statement. “Why don’t we send Kreature to the Alley?” Kreature was an elderly house elf that Sirius had apparently forgotten the existence of until they had stepped foot back in Grimmauld Place. 

The elf popped into the existence at the sound of his name, and turned to Sirius who was steadfastly ignoring the new addition to the kitchen. 

“Unworthy Master Sirius is needing poor Kreature to gather supplies to feed the rabid animal and the wolf?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, torn between being angry and humored by the elf who hadn’t exactly taken a liking to him. Though, he did think that he was above Remus and Sirius in the elf’s estimation. 

“No, thank you, Kreature. We will be going ourselves,” Remus said. 

“As you wish, Unhonourable Disgrace to the name of Black,” Kreature murmured again to a Sirius who was looking anywhere but at the elf. 

The elf popped out of existence. 

“That was pleasant,” Harry said. And Remus and Sirius burst into giggles. 

“Unhonourable Disgrace to the name of Black,” said Remus. “That’s a new one.” 

Harry nodded. “Yes, though, Siri, are you under the impression that if you don’t look at him that he can’t see you?” Harry giggled into his tea. “I thought you were going to hide in the cabinets to avoid looking at him. 

Sirius sighs. 

“He gives me the creeps, always has, ever since I was a child. The thing always did prefer my brother. Like everyone else in my family.” 

“That’s not true!” Remus interjected. “What about ‘Dromeda?”

“Who?” Harry asked, interested in hearing even a little bit more about Sirius’ life pre-Harry. 

Sirius sat down at the table with a thunk, and unconsciously stole a piece of bacon from Remus’ plate. 

“My cousin, Andromeda, a fellow black sheep if you will. A black by blood, she married a muggleborn which promptly got her burned off of the family tapestry. My mother always did have a thing for pyro.” 

“I’ve heard,” said Harry. Harry had a running list of how many ways the woman had threatened to torture with fire. That was a side benefit of getting screeched at by the woman. His vocabulary was increasing exponentially. 

“I am also burned off the map,” continued Sirius. “You know what would be a good idea?” said Sirius. “We’ll add you to the map, and then have a celebratory burning of your effigy. It would almost be like a coming of age thing.”

Remus started, his tea spurting from his mouth. 

“Pads,” Remus started. “Are you….” 

Sirius broke then, and folded over onto the table as he cackled. 

“You’re a menace,” Remus said, as he successfully smacked Sirius’ hand away as he reached once again for another piece of the man’s bacon. 

Harry smiled into his tea, and reached for a fork. He had pancakes to enjoy. 

***

The letter had come as soon as he cast the spell. It had landed right in Sirius’ outstretched hand, but Harry hadn’t heard about the, uh, notice, until the next day. He was to appear in front of the Wizengamot for the use of underage magic. 

“But we were under attack,” Harry said. “What was I supposed to do?” 

“You did the right thing,” Remus said. “But the Ministry is out to prove something, and whether you like it or not, you and Sirius are both influential people. It doesn’t help that a werewolf is also in your company.” 

“The Ministry can go fu…”

“Sirius!” Remus said, halting what was sure to be another tangent from his beloved but angry lover. 

“Everything will work. Sirius and I will both give our testimonies, and the Wizengamot will be forced to put an end to this.”

Sirius bustled into the room, an apron tied around his waist. “And then, we will invite the Weasley’s over, and we will have a celebratory Screw the Ministry Party.” 

“Sirius!” 

“What?! Screw is hardly a curse. Would you rather that I said Bugger the Ministry?”

Remus sighed in a long suffering way, but leaned up and brushed some flour from Sirius’ shoulder. 

The next day at an unreasonably early hour, Remus, Sirius, and Harry headed to the Ministry. Harry had heard from Ron in a short letter telling him that they would be there after the hearing, but he hadn’t heart from any of his Slytherin cohorts. Millicent, may or may not have heard, the Ministry it seemed was trying to keep things underwraps, no doubt for a bigger splash when his guilty verdict was announced in the Prophet. Merlin, how he hated that rag. They should add the outdated copies hoarded in Grimmauld Place to a bonfire at his celebration party. 

Wait, was being a pyro catching? Maybe he should put a hold on the Prophet flames. 

The Ministry halls were lush and active as people blazed in and out of fireplaces that lined the halls, and people apparated here and there, interoffice memos flying overhead. The group of them walked down a long, barren hallway, and Harry, once again, felt a chill in the air. It was only halted by the reassuring hand that Remus placed on his shoulder, and the bear hug that Sirius wrapped him up in before he went into the courtroom.  
Remus and Sirius weren’t allowed to go in with him, yet, but they would be called in turn as the Wizengamot sought witnesses. 

“Even if they don’t,” said Sirius. “I’ll be in there in ten minutes, regardless of whether this thing is over not.” 

Harry offered them a reassuring smile, and walked through the door. 

The courtroom was large and grand. A hundred people or more were sitting in the stands, looking down at him, some with serious expressions on their faces and some with condemning ones. 

Cornelius Fudge sat front in center. 

Harry resisted the urge to sneer. Of course, Fudge would be behind this. 

“Harry Potter, do you know why you are here?”

Harry nodded.

“Yes, but it isn’t my…..”

“You are charged with the restricted use of underage magic.”

“Yes but….” 

Harry pushed his bangs out of his eyes. He was already sweating in this suit Sirius’ had insisted he wear. People respect a well-dressed wizard. 

Harry wondered how his well-dressed arse was going to get out of this one, when the attendant at the door made an announcement. 

“A speaker for the defense.” 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Dumbledore was here. Remus said that they had been in touch with the man, but it wasn't Dumbledore that entered the courtroom, it was Lucius Malfoy.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting. I do not own Harry Potter, and this is unbeta'd. I am merely a girl with a dream, and a computer, and several intense ongoing delusions. One of those being that JK Rowling will read this fanfiction and have an intense desire to hear my idea. 
> 
> Also, this will be uploaded within two weeks of the last posting, which is now. I promise. All the love.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Dumbledore was here. Remus said that they had been in touch with the man, but it wasn't Dumbledore that entered the courtroom, it was Lucius Malfoy. 

“Oh great,” Harry thought, another person to lay claim against him. Harry wondered how many years they give people in Azkaban for stealing (freeing) a house elf. By the way Malfoy senior’s nose hair flared in his regal nostrils Harry felt confident it could be quite a few. But instead of turning his withering, poor dumb peasants look on Harry, he turned toward the members of the Wizengamot. 

“Wizards and Witches of the Wizengamot, Lucius Malfoy for the defense.”

Wait? What? 

Fudge shifted in his seat, looking like someone had just tried to shove raw asparagus stalks up his arse.

“Lucius, wha...” he spluttered. 

“Minister,” Lucius acknowledged, a slick smile on his face. “The charges,” he followed.

“Lu....,” Fudge started again, but Lucius quickly spoke again. 

“The charges, Cornelius, if you will.” 

Fudge seemed to get himself together. 

“Use of underage magic and being held under the suspicion of responsibility in the death of three Muggles.”

The memory of Dudley’s cold frozen face still fresh in his mind. Murder? They thought that he could have? He and the Dursleys may not ever have gotten along, but did people really think that he was capable of murder. Harry shrunk back in his chair.

But Lucius pounced. 

“So, is this a trial or merely a questioning? Is this an impartial hearing or hunt with an innocent Hogwart’s student as the prey?”

“This is no hunt,” a witch in the crowd stated. “And this is no show either, Mr. Malfoy. 

Lucius nodded pointedly, clicking his tongue derisively. 

“Indeed it isn't, Madam Bones, and yet, Harry Potter, a highly popular and publicized member of this community, even before his recent Triwizard win is being subjected to this   
public mockery of a hearing? An arraignment? What? It's a wonder this governing body just didn't chuck him straight to Azkaban like they did his godfather. Or have we so recently   
forgotten that debacle?” 

Fudge banged the gavel in his hand loudly against the platform in front of him. “No one in this courtroom is going to forget the Sirius Black debacle anytime soon, Lucius.”

Harry filed that away to tell Sirius later. He would be so pleased. 

“Exactly, and yet, we are here in this room together making the same mistakes. You have memories from two.. wizards.”

“You have them waiting outside to give their testimonies right now. You have the bodies of three Muggle.” 

“Bbbbut,” Fudge stuttered.

Lucius paced the room, and it brought a visceral memory to the front of Harry’s mind. Draco Malfoy pacing the floor of the Slytherin Common Room performing and pandering for a crowd of fawning people. Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy among the pack pandering to their king as he flounced around the room, the onlookers rapt. The Malfoys had a way with movement. Long strides, that blonde hair that gleamed just right in firelight. Even Harry was helpless but to look. 

Harry glanced up discretely and noticed the subtle tick of the member’s heads, left, right, left right as they tracked Lucius Malfoy and his dragon hide boots. Lucius looked up at Harry for the first time since he had walked into the room, and Harry saw one corner of his mouth tip up. Then, the man turned back to the jury. 

“I say, we call for a vote.”

Lucius eyed the members of the Wizengamot. His grey eyes not pleading but condemning them almost into action. 

Then, the same woman who spoke before, spoke up once again. 

“I call for the dismissal of all charges in the case of Harry James Potter. All agreed.” 

Harry wanted to close his eyes, but he wanted to see this. 

“All opposed,” the woman then said. And a few people rose their hand, but the count was in favor. 

Harry nearly jumped from the chair. He would have, if it wasn’t for Lucius Malfoy’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Have a good rest of your summer, Mr. Potter.” 

Harry nodded at the man who had tried to kill him only three months ago in a silver mask. Harry nodded at the man who was his roommate’s father. Harry nodded at the man who had just saved him.

The trial was over. They had won, but the look on Fudge’s face assured Harry that he would not forget this anytime soon. Don’t worry, Minister, Harry thought, I won’t forget this either. Harry smirked maliciously in the man’s direction. Sirius bumped into Lucius Malfoy as one was leaving the courtroom and the other was rushing in. Sirius barely noticed the blonde man as he rushed to get to Harry’s side. Harry was immediately swept up into his arms. Remus soon followed, his arms going around both Sirius and Harry, a low growl echoing in his throat. Harry didn’t often see evidence of the wolf, but the closeness they had all shared this summer and the obvious stress of the past few days had brought out the man’s baser instincts to protect and care for the members of his pack. Harry didn’t mind though. Being held so tight by the two men in the middle of a conquered courtroom made Harry feel truly safe for the first time since he witnessed the black cloak of a dementor being pushed back by the combined light of a wolf, a dog, and a stag.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting. This is unbeta'd. Mistakes are mine. Thanks for the support, always. You can follow me on Tumblr at Thinkmyhappythoughts or send a question through Twitter at Mitchel_chelsea   
> And JR. I've got an idea, hit me up.

On the way back from the Ministry, their victory still fresh in their minds the trio were happier than ever. Sirius had to be convinced by a giggling Remus not to carry Harry on his shoulders through the bowels of the Ministry. Harry had almost let him. 

When the group got back to Grimmauld Place, Harry opened the door to raucous cheer. Mrs. Weasley immediately swept him up in a hug, and the proceeded to pass him along to Fred and George, then Ginny, Ron, then finally Hermione. Harry relished every single embrace. 

“Congratulations, my love,” Mrs. Weasley said, pinching Harry’s cheek lightly. Harry smiled. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” 

“Yeah, mate,” said Ron as he pulled Harry close to him, “Thank Merlin, you got out of that one. It was a load of hippogriff...” Ron glanced around him to make sure that Mrs. Weasley couldn’t hear him. “you know what, if you ask me.” 

“Ron, Harry dear, come on, we have cake,” Mrs. Weasley shouted from the dining room. Ron threw his arm over Harry’s shoulder, and escorted him into his mini victory party. 

Several people were already at the table. Sirius sat at his place at the head of the table, and promptly dawned a pointy party hat that looked like someone had stolen it from a Muggle’s third birthday party. 

He put one into Harry’s hand as he walked past. Harry discretely got rid of it as a rather bulky, black man stepped in front of him. 

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, pleasure to meet you Mr. Potter.” 

Harry shook the proffered hand. 

“Nice to meet you, too, sir.” 

“I’m glad you were able to make it out of that scrape. Fudge seems to be working with a bit of a vendetta.” 

Harry nodded and took a seat next to the man. 

“So, what do you do Mr. Shacklebolt?”

“He’s an auror, and not a horrible one,” a voice said from the corner. Harry hadn’t noticed the man before, but there he was shrouded by shadows. The man stepped out, his magical eye, one leg, and general gruffness all on display. 

“Professor,” Harry greeted, but the man scoffed. 

“I’m not your professor.” The man walked by Harry, ignoring his outstretched hand as he too took a seat. 

Right, Harry thought. That professor was a psychopath who tried to kill me. I’ve got to remember that. 

Then, Ginny walked into the room alongside Remus and Hermione who were discussing something rather intently. Mrs. Weasley saw what was in Hermione’s hand and then promptly made a grab for it. Hermione let it go without a fight as soon as she saw Harry at the table. Her face lit up as soon as their eyes met. 

“Harry!” she squealed, rushing over to his side. “So, glad to see you. I’ve been dying to know your thoughts on that summer essay for Professor McGonagall. The theory behind atomical shifts is really giving me some trouble.” 

Harry smiled, glad that Hermione knew him better than to badger him about the hearing. Looking around at the table, Harry knew that they all did. This was his new, if extended family. But there was something else going on. 

Harry sat and ate the proffered food that Mrs. Weasley had painstakingly crafted. The cake alone was something akin to a masterpiece. Harry didn’t even know that infusing the taste of treacle tart into a cake was even possible. It had been mouthwatering. 

Harry had been biding his time. Eating quietly and taking part in conversation around him, but he was keeping his eyes on the people at the table. His powers of observation had only increased during his time in the Slytherin Common Room, and he could tell that something was going on. 

A few other people were introduced to Harry as the party wore on. Elphias Doge. A woman who looked both striking and formidable with a wand. A couple more people were added to the mix, and Harry knew that they couldn’t all be here for his party. 

He noticed how Kingsley Shacklebolt had gotten up at one point, and went over to talk in hushed tones to Sirius. He noticed how the new woman was in deep conversation with Bill Weasley. And how Tonks, the colorful, young cousin he never knew Sirius had whispered conspiratorially with Mr. Weasley. 

“Okay,” said Mrs. Weasley, drawing all of their attention. “I think that it’s time for some of us to head upstairs and get ready for bed.” 

Ginny sighed, preparing to voice her complaints when Mrs. Weasley silenced her with a look. Harry glanced toward Sirius for a rebuttal for this ridiculously early bedtime, but he was steadfastly looking at the table top in front of him, ignoring Harry’s questioning gaze. No wonder you made Gryffindor, Harry thought as he stood from the table. You have absolutely no chill. 

Harry stood as he was instructed, and walked to the staircase with Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny in tow. Lucky for him, and unlucky for Mrs. Weasley her sons were a pair of deviants. 

Fred and George stopped them at the top of the stairs. Fred pulled something from his pocket. 

“Now, hows about we get some answers.” 

Harry smiled, and took the offered….ear? 

***

“I think we should tell him,” said Mad-Eye Moody. The Extendable Ears were almost unnecessary to hear the gruff man, he spoke so loudly. 

The lot of them had huddled at the top of the stairs, the ears hanging down to the bottom of the steps currently catching everything that was being said. 

It was almost as if none of them had ever encountered a silencing charm. Amateurs. 

“I’m not sure,” said Sirius, finally speaking up. 

“Sirius,” Remus encountered. “We already know that Harry is aware of something going on, and no doubt he noticed the swarm of people who were here for his little victory party. He’s not stupid.” 

“I never said that he was. I know that my godson is brilliant, but he is still just a kid.” 

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Remus said. “We both saw the same thing the other night, Sirius.” 

Harry heard Sirius sigh. 

“I agree with Sirius,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Harry is only fifteen years old. He is way too young to be dealing with stuff like this. The Order does not induct children.” 

“Since when?” Mad-Eye interjected. “Unfortunately, war is not reserved for adults, and children become warriors often before their time.” 

“Astute observation, Mad-Eye,” said a voice that Harry instantly recognized as Snape’s. “And have you not actively participated in the recruitment for said children?” 

Harry could envision the furious look on Mad-Eye’s face. 

“And you’re one to talk to me about leading children to their deaths?”

A chair was tipped over, and someone, Harry thought Mr. Weasley cast an “Expelliarmus!” 

“That is enough!” said Mr. Weasley. “Severus, Mad-Eye please take your seats. We need to discuss this rationally.” 

“I agree,” said a voice none of the children at the top of the stairs had trouble recognizing as Dumbledore’s. 

“This isn’t about inducting anyone into this Order, but it is about what Harry needs to know to be prepared, if anything.” 

Harry bristled at that. He more than anyone should be entitled to information. Ron had explained what the Order of the Phoenix was, and what their aim was, but what did   
any of that have to do with him? 

“We’ve tried to keep Harry away from the papers, but he knows that people especially the Prophet have been coming for both him and you, Dumbledore. But as far as that item that Voldemort is looking for. I’m not sure. I just want to keep Harry safe.” 

“In my house, we argue that knowledge is power,” Professor Snape said. 

“No one asked you Snivellus,” snarled Sirius. 

“Maybe you should have, as I’m uncertain as to whether your parenting skills after twelve years in Azkaban are quite what they should be.” 

“And what the hell does that mean?” Sirius said louder, and Harry could tell that more spells were about to cast. 

“Look,” said Dumbledore. “We will talk about this at the next meaning. There are some things that I need to be getting back too, and if I’m not wrong, we might have some   
more people attending this meeting than we think.” 

The group at the top of the stairs exchanged a panicked look, and quickly took off to their separate rooms, none of them wanting to be caught by Mrs. Weasley. 

*h*p*

Grimmauld Place had undergone a serious cleaning at the start of the summer. Sirius had told him a lot of stories about Grimmauld Place and his mother’s interesting taste, but when the group first got there the house was clear of the vials of dragon blood, troll hands for coasters, and the plaques of former house elf heads. The house looked relatively normal, though Harry was still barred from entering the infamous Black Family Library until things could be looked over by Sirius. 

The man had asked Kreacher what he had done with all of the nefarious artifacts, but the house elf had just shrugged and said that they were taken care of. And with all of the recent events, he hadn’t been able to question the elf further. From what Harry knew of the elf and his co-dependent relationship with the portrait of Walburga Black, he guessed that the Black Family Artifacts were closer than they all thought. 

Still, Harry and Ron’s room was clear. The room was large, and subtly handsome. In their time, the Black Family was one of the wealthiest in all of Britain, though their gradual decent into incest and insanity had taken its toll on the family if not the family’s coffers. 

From the molding on the floor to the gold gilding on the ceiling the room radiated wealth. Harry had read the print on the sheets on his bed, and wasn’t surprised to find some French script that he couldn’t interpret beyond, “More than most people make in a year”. Harry wasn’t bothered by the excess of wealth though he certainly wasn’t used to such things at the Dursleys. Harry rolled over onto his back. He wasn’t thinking of them. He wasn’t. He had put them into the past, but he was still having some trouble sleeping. 

He was just about to go and get something to drink when he felt the bed dip beside him. He assumed it was Ron, and decided to wait a little longer before getting out of bed, not wanting to wake him. Then he felt an arm sling over his shoulder. 

Jeez, Harry thought. The things I’m willing to do for friendship. 

Harry smiled into the darkness. He should have known that Ron was a cuddler. 

Then the hand that was now resting on his chest started to move in soothing circle’s on Harry’s chest as the hand moved lower and lower. Harry almost bounded out of bed when he heard a voice that certainly wasn’t Ron’s say, “What about it, Potter? I’m down if you are.” 

Harry jumped out of bed, and hit the light, somehow managing to grab his glasses so he could see who the fu…. 

“Blaise?!” Harry shouted the same time that Ron stumbled out of his own bed, and shouted, “Zabini?!” 

Blaise who was completely unperturbed lay on Harry’s bed, his hands propped under his neck, looking for the whole world like he hadn’t just tried to feel Harry up. 

Harry didn’t know if to feel more angry or flattered.

Blaise smirked, and looked Harry up and down. 

Never mind, Harry felt angry, definitely angry. 

“Blaise, what in Salazar’s name are you doing here?” 

Blaise shifted slightly on the bed, but didn’t rise. 

“Isn’t it obvious, Potter?” Blaise said with a salacious smirk. 

Harry grabbed a pillow from the bed, and smacked Blaise in the face with it. Ron, in his bright orange Cannon’s t-shirt, clutched at his front as if he was going to have a heart attack. 

Blaise laughed, his hair still perfectly in place. Darn him. Harry was sure his own hair looked like he had just been through a rather violent windstorm, like it always looked like when he woke. 

Wait, why was he thinking about his hair. 

“I’m here,” said Blaise, rising from the bed. “To save you, of course.” 

“Save him from what,” Ron asked, moving to stand at the end of Harry’s bed. 

“From being inducted into the Malfoy family. Being blonde is more than just a suggestion in that family, and I’m honestly not sure that you would be able to pull it off.” 

“Wha…” Harry started, when the sound of something exploding echoed from downstairs. Ron, Harry, and Blaise all looked at one another, and ran downstairs. Sirius was shaking, his wand drawn and still pointing at a now decimated side table as Remus was pacing, a low growl echoing in his throat. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood off to the side, huddled together. 

“I can’t believe that Lucius would stoop this low,” said Mr. Weasley. 

“I knew that there was reason that he defended Harry at that hearing. I never should have allowed that to happen.” 

Remus made a grab for Sirius’ arm. “What else were we going to do?” he asked. “We didn’t know that he would do this. I mean, challenging our custody?” 

Oh no, Harry thought, and suddenly had a flash of boxed hair dye, etiquette lessons on how to cast the Cruciatus curse, and lunches with Lucius Malfoy. Would he and Draco share bunk beds? Arggghhh. Harry stifled a shiver. 

“That will never happen!” Sirius said, vehemently. 

Blaise stepped forward then, and the four adults in the room finally took notice of the three boys. 

“You’re right,” said Blaise. “Which is why I’m here. We are going to do what every great Slytherin does when push comes to shove and someone has a wand at your throat.”

“What run?” Sirius spat the word with disdain. 

“Yes,” said Blaise calmly. 

Sirius paced in front of the fire, the light making his cheeks look gaunt. The wild look in his eyes more closely resembling his first days out of Azkaban than they have in a while. 

“Look,” said Blaise. “Lucius Malfoy is not going to give up on this, and he has grounds.” 

“He has nothing,” said Sirius. 

“Really?” asked Blaise feigning nonchalance. “Or am I not now standing in a room with three Weasleys, a werewolf, and an ex-convict who just so happens to be related to the person who is vying for custody of Harry? Not to mention that Harry’s credibility has not exactly been at the highest after the events of the tournament.” 

Harry remembered the graveyard, and knew that if he were to go to the Malfoy’s house that he wouldn’t likely be sharing a bunkbed with Draco, but most likely, a dungeon with Voldemort as his jailor. 

By the look on Sirius’ face, he was coming to the same conclusion. 

He looked at Remus and the two had a quick unspoken conversation before Remus spoke, “So, what’s your plan?”

“Let me tell you all about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be no longer than two weeks. All the love.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting. I love this fandom. Please don't judge too harshly as this was unbeta'd. I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters however much I think that Fred and George would provide a myriad of uses against people who annoy me. 
> 
> And JK Rowling, I have an idea. Call me. Tweet me. Something. I'm fighting fate here.

The villa was truly something to behold. Throughout their travels this summer, Harry, Remus, and Sirius had stayed in some pretty lavish places, but this topped them all. 

“And this is merely the summer home,” said Blaise, coming up beside him.  
Sirius it seemed was making himself well at home, lounging comfortably on a chaise in the living room. An elf was nearby fanning him slightly with a wide, elaborate fan. Remus was standing anxiously near the front door with Harry and Blaise as the group waited for the entrance of Madam Zabini, the black widow herself, otherwise known as Blaise’s mom. 

Harry heard movement from the top of the stairs. Remus stood straighter, and tried in vain to catch Sirius’ eyes. 

“Hello,” decreed Lady Zabini or was it Montrese now? Harry would have to ask Blaise sooner rather than later. 

“Mother,” Blaise said as she reached the bottom steps. It was then that Harry noticed the two younger girls that were standing behind her, the twins, Blaise’s sisters, Jasmine and Ariella. 

“Hello, ma’am,” Harry said, bowing low to greet Blaise’s mother. “Hello, young ladies,” he said then, turning to the two young girls beside her. Blaise’s mother was as striking as her son. She was a dark skinned woman with sharp cheekbones, and a jawline that Harry was impressed didn’t leave all of her suitors with skinned chins. She was tall, almost as tall as Remus, and Harry was nearly stunned speechless as she cast her gorgeous brown eyes in his direction. 

Remus wasn’t faring much better. She may not have been a werewolf, but no one could deny that this woman was an alpha in her own right. 

“Thank you for inviting us into your home,” said Remus. 

Mrs. Zabini swept her arms out an in an open gesture. “What is mine is yours. Blaise has spoken very fondly about Mr. Potter. It was too bad that he couldn’t join us sooner, but we are lucky to have all of you here.” 

“My mate, Sirius Black,” Remus introduced, somehow sensing Sirius who was now at his side. 

“Pleasure,” uttered Sirius, bowing low, the Black in him responding appropriately to the social situation at hand. 

“And these are my two daughters, Jasmine and Ariella.“

“Lovely to meet you,” Sirius said, turning his charm on the two girls who were nearly the spitting image of their mother. Harry knew that Blaise and the girls had different fathers, but they looked nearly identical. The maternal genes must be strong in this family. 

Dinner that night was a new experience. The food was of the very best kind as waiters, not house elves served them a four course meal. 

“Are they charmed?” Sirius asked them, an edge of distaste in his voice. 

Madam Zabini laughed delicately. 

“Yes, but only by magic of another kind. And the money, of course.” 

Sirius nodded, seemingly placated by her explanation and by the lightly steaming steak that had just been placed in front of him. Remus, too, seemed assured that nothing untoward was happening at Villa Zabini. Life at the Villa was nothing short of extraordinary. Blaise had insisted on showing Harry how everything was done. 

They lounged on the beach that seemed reserved for only those in the house, and the very few neighbors that they had. They toured the city, and drank coffee and ate nearly every pastry known to man. Harry learned that things were done differently in this country, and he leaned into Mother Italy’s embrace. As far as he was concerned his worries might as well have been on another continent. 

Harry noticed drastic changes in the two men that he called godparents. Remus whose skinned had always seem pallid and sallow now looked tanned and fresh. And Sirius was surrounded by an easy air as if a breeze was constantly swirling around him. The pair of them together were acting as if they were back in school. They teased each other indulging in inside jokes. They swam laps in the sea, and got burned by the sun. And each night, well, Harry tried to ignore the sounds that he heard coming from their room. While he was happy for the two of them, he didn’t need those images in his mind, thank you very much. 

Unlike those at Grimmauld Place, Mrs. Zabini held nothing back in regards to talking about just what had caused them to leave England the way that they did. She was an open woman who one would never think held so many secrets. 

“Lucius Malfoy may have a long arm, but this is my territory, and there is no crossing boundaries unless someone has my say so.” 

“Thank you, Lady Zabini,” Harry said. Remus and Sirius were off to the side showing Jasmine and Ariella some of the fireworks they had bought off Fred and George. The four of them were giggling madly as the lights and sounds exploded into the air around them. Sirius was always at his best when he had an audience, and the girls seemed to adore him and Remus both. 

Sirius was looking back to normal, and if the way Mrs. Zabini was looking at him, quite devastatingly handsome. “You know, if it wasn’t painfully obvious that your godfather was completely owned by Mr. Lupin you and Blaise might have had a chance to become more than friends.” 

Harry smiled, knowing for sure that if there were any pair in the world that were meant to be together it was Sirius and Remus. Not any number of wars or years in Azkaban could ever change what they have. 

“They are happy.” 

Mrs. Zabini nodded slightly. 

“Love is like that, isn’t it? All consuming, enthralling, and filling every atom.” 

“I wouldn’t know,” said Harry. “I’ve never been in love before.” 

“Aw,” said Mrs. Zabini with a little laugh. “I have, many times.” 

Harry must have given a face as he thought about the woman’s long line of unfortunate beaus.

Mrs. Zabini pointed to the corner of the room where Blaise was in the midst of romancing one of the non-entranced wait staff. “One.” 

Then she pointed to the side where Sirius was transforming and Remus was leading the “dog” in a series of tricks and the two girls were laughing hysterically. “Two and Three.” 

Harry nodded, understanding now. “The three and only loves of my life. And when I say, Mr. Potter, that I would do anything to keep them happy and safe and whole, I mean anything. Blaise told me about what transpired after the events of last year.” 

Harry nodded, feeling a twinge of phantom pain as images of that night flashed in his mind, chief among them Voldemort’s twisted snarl and Cassius’ blank expression. 

Mrs. Zabini continued. 

“My family has a long standing tradition of neutrality in the wars of men and wizard alike. Most of my ancestors were only involved in events that benefitted them financially or otherwise. I trust when you say that The Dark Lord has returned. All of whisperings that have floated to my ears has echoed your claims. England is going to be thrust into another war, and you and your godparents are going to be right in the middle of it. But…” 

“But you don’t want that for Blaise,” Harry finished the woman’s thought. 

“Blaise is encouraged to make his own decisions. That is why he offered you use of our home after Lucius decided to make a play for you. A rather intelligent play at that.” 

Mrs. Zabini ran her fingers up and down the spine of her wine glass.

“Look over there,” Mrs. Zabini instructed as she maintained eye contact with Harry. “Both of your guardians while they have been minding and entertaining my girls have been sending us discrete looks every so often. They are making sure that I am not tainting you or threatening you in any way. They are looking out for you.” 

Harry looked out of the corner of his eye, and finally noticed Remus glance their way. The man was still laughing at Sirius’ antics, but his eyes were trained on Harry, assessing the conversation that was going on between him and Mrs. Zabini. 

“They would die for you. They would kill for you,” the striking woman said. “And I would do the same for my children, have too. I look out for my children’s best interests, but I also, know that their welfare is more than just physical, and that if something happened to you, that it would cause my son pain.” 

Harry glanced over at Blaise who was now leading the unsuspecting red haired waiter out into the corridor. Harry chuckled. 

“I don’t want that.” 

“I know,” Madam Zabini said. “And while I can’t offer you more verbal support in the oncoming battles. I can share some advice with you that has always served me well. Remember the ones who are faithful to you, remember your enemies, and remember that the places of enemy and friend can be reversed, one to easily and one with a little effort.” 

Harry nodded. 

“I trust that you will try these new skills at our upcoming party.”

“Trust me, Madam Zabini, I will.” 

***  
Blaise’s room was as lush and as extravagant as the rest of the house. It was more than twice the size of the living room of Number Four. Blaise was currently pacing in front of his magically enlarged wardrobe tossing everything he owned on the bed that Harry was currently sitting on. 

“Why on Earth do I own so much green? Where is the purple? Purple is undeniably my color.” 

“Undeniably,” Harry agreed, as he removed the sheer black shirt that had just landed on his face. 

“And you,” Blaise continued. “What on Earth are you going to wear? I mean, with your complexion and hair color there are very few options that are available to you.” 

“Should I be offended?”

Blaise turned and looked at him. 

“Should you be offended that I one of Hogwarts finest has taken enough notice of you to know what color robes you would look best in? Darling, most would be flattered beyond belief. Even that delicious temptress Eloise Midgen acknowledged that she had a good thing whilst we were in the thrall of passion.” 

“And how many minutes did that last again?” Harry said, laughing. 

Blaise looked at him sternly. “Please do not mock the best moment of my life, Potter. That is unconscionable.” 

“My apologies, good sir.” 

Blaise turned back to the wardrobe, and exclaimed, “Yes!” 

He turned around, holding a rather eloquent looking suede brocade, hunter green robe clutched in his grasp. 

“I thought you said that green was out for this season,” Harry said, echoing the boy’s words back to him. 

“For me, yes, of course, but this,” he thrust the garment toward Harry. “This is for you.” 

Harry grabbed the rather gorgeous robes, and admired them up close. The detail was fantastic. Etchings of leaves were inlaid in the fabric so close together that it look like the ceiling of a thick forest woodland. 

“Oh,” said Blaise, causing Harry to look up. And it was only his quick, seeker reflexes that allowed him to catch the mask before it smacked him in the forehead.

“You’ll need that as well because this is a masquerade.”

***  
The grand ballroom in the Villa’s east wing was full of people. The tall marble columns supported the largely glass ceiling that was now flooding the brightly lit room with the sight of the stars. The sea was present right outside the ballroom, but hardly any light was shining on the beach. Blaise said that the area was discretely reserved for those in love and those who wanted to be in love. Harry thought that people would be shy about making their way to the sand, but there were so many people in attendance at the small get together as Madam Zabini had called it that Harry couldn’t keep track of one person for longer than a few moments. 

Plus, the masks were extremely helpful in hiding identities. Each mask seemed to be imbued with more than just colorful art and peacock feathers as the addition of glamour charms made it impossible to determine just who was under what mask unless the wearer wanted others to know. 

Harry was standing with Blaise as the boy visually sampled the various “delights” that the room had to offer. Harry had lost sight of Sirius and Remus long ago, only glancing them once or twice on the dance floor rapt in each other’s arms. On their travels, some people had looked down on the pair of them whether it was Muggles who didn’t like the idea of two men being together, or prejudiced wizard kind who knew of their status as ex-con and werewolf, but here surrounded by the best of the elite, the pair were taking advantage of daring to be in love right under their noses. 

“Let’s go dance, Potter,” Blaise said, grabbing and pulling him toward the dance floor. 

“Absolutely not,” Harry tried to say. Blaise reached up and placed a finger against his lips. 

“This is a masquerade ball, Potter, no one hear even knows who you are. This is the time for you to forget that little fact as well. As a matter of fact, how about we give you another name? Alberto, Renato, perhaps…. Silven?” 

Harry started to speak again, but Blaise silenced him with a look. “Live a little, Potter, we may not get the chance to do so again anytime soon.” 

Harry thought of the dreams that he had been having, both real and imagined, and he nodded. He clasped Blaise on the shoulder, and said, “Nice to meet you, I’m James.” 

Harry set with his new alter ego walked onto the dance floor. The people there were dancing much like they had at the Yule Ball. In the beginning, some more formal dances had been had, but now, after a while the movement of the participants looked more like a mass of bodies tangled together, moving in whatever way and with whichever partner that they saw fit. 

Harry may have been intensely uncomfortable finding himself in the masses, but James was confident as he waded into the throng. He and Blaise danced together until Harry felt confident in his movements, and Blaise found a rather petite blonde girl to occupy him for a few moments. Harry was just starting to really lose himself in the music when he spotted a tall, thin masked figure move in his direction. 

Harry watched the figure slyly as the young figure moved in his direction. Harry thought briefly that it might be someone with nefarious intent before putting that thought aside. It was fine. He wasn’t Harry Potter now. No one could see his face or know his identity. He was James no last name. He didn’t need one, not tonight. 

Keeping this in mind, and telling his nerves to be quiet, he turned ready to face the figure, only to find that the man was closer than he thought. The two were now face to face. What Harry could tell, the person was slightly taller than he was, and was most definitely around the same age. The mask and the charms associated with it obscured his face, and though Harry couldn’t tell whether the man was attractive or not he did see that the figure moved with surety and held himself with an easy confidence. 

“Fancy a dance?” the voice was one of Italian descent, but Harry was sure that while the mask was made to distort your identity that it could also distort a voice. 

Harry glanced toward the ground, and brazenly raked his eyes over the form of his soon to be dance partner, and shook his head. His partner instantly grabbed Harry, and pulled him close. It was too easy how the pair of them swept together. 

Harry wasn’t exactly graceful. He never had been. The only place in the world where he had ever been fluid was in the air, but the way that this man was holding him, made him feel like he was being swept into the air. His partner moved him swiftly around the room. 

“You dance well,” his partner said. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, trying to disguise his voice, and hoping that he succeeded. “You’re not so bad yourself.” 

Ever since the Yule Ball last year, when Harry had caught Flint and Wood in what could only be called a compromising embrace, Harry had though seriously about what attracted him. He had even watched a rather interesting television program in Milan while Remus and Sirius were out doing some light shopping. It had been…enlightening to say the least. Harry had thought that all of the tragedy in his life as of late would have halted those particular feelings, but here they were, loud and unyielding. 

The music shifted. 

The music shifted, and while some people changed partners Harry’s only pulled him closer. Their bodies were so close to one another’s that a sheet of parchment couldn’t fit between them. The man’s lips ghosted over Harry’s neck and along his jawline, and Harry had to remind himself that this person was a stranger. 

“Fancy a swim?” the man asked in Harry’s ear. 

A swim, Harry thought. Out there past the infamous sands. 

Harry felt his partner’s strong hands on his shoulders then down his arms and the front of his chest then lower. And just as Harry was about to make a decision. Sirius bumped into his side, his mask tilted up on his forehead as he swallowed back a glass of champagne. 

“Sirius!” Harry said, disentangling himself from his partner. 

“Helllloooo…..” Sirius said. “And who was your little friend….” 

Harry turned to look and see if he could spot the boy, but he was now gone. 

“Sirius! There you are!” Remus walked up to them, and grabbed the other man’s arm. “Sorry, Harry, I think we’ve had a little too much fun.” 

Remus nearly scooped Sirius up in his arms as he led him away. 

“Going to have more fun together, eh, Moony.” 

Harry didn’t bother with thinking about that, as he turned in search of his dance partner. He was James tonight. And James was rather feeling like a swim. 

Harry moved to the large doors that led to an outdoor area with stairs that led to the sea. Few were out on the darkened area, but none of the people there took notice of Harry. Harry moved toward the steps, and was almost to the sand when he saw movement in the darkness near the water. 

He knew it was him. He just knew it. 

Harry took another few steps, and could barely make out a head of bright blonde hair as the figure moved into the water. Harry crept forward. The figure turned, and Harry noticed the mask on the ground near the sand as well as the man’s robes before he saw the outline of a nose, lips, and eyes that he…knew. 

Harry stepped back, and turned to move towards the house. How could he? How could he have been so stupid? How could he have danced with him? And why didn’t that dance seem familiar to him when it should have? He knew, though he would rather forget it, how those hands felt on his body. 

It just couldn’t be. Harry turned back because he was wrong. He had to be. But when Harry turned back he saw the naked outline of Draco Malfoy in the water, seemingly waiting for him. 

James wanted to go into the water, and do…who knew what. He could forget that he and the boy in the water were enemies. He could forget that the boy in the water hated him, that his father had been the source of so many of his nightmares. But he wasn’t James. He was Harry Potter. 

So, with one last look. He went back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: Thinkmyhappythoughts Twitter: Mitchel_chelsea 
> 
> I'd love to speak to you on Tumblr or Twitter.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting. I love this fandom.  
> Hit me up on Tumblr or Twitter if you want to chat. Tumblr: Thinkmyhappythoughts Twitter: Mitchel_chelsea 
> 
> WARNINGS: Some violence toward the end.

Harry was hungover, if one could count a large amount of sugar mixed with copious amounts of sparkling cider, and several, several varying degrees of wonderful renditions of Italian pop songs that Harry had never heard of before hungover. Harry had envisioned his last night at the Villa would be spent having a fine meal in the villa’s lavish dining room then later, perhaps, listening to some music on the wireless as Sirius and Remus entertained the girls, but he had not expected the wild ride that had greeted him. Madame Zabini it had turned out, and let the last night’s festivities to be planned by the twins. It was tradition Blaise had said as they walked down the stairs to the main living space. 

Harry had opened the doors to what could only be labeled as “the most spectacular thing that Harry had ever seen”. It was beautiful. The girls had outdone themselves. Every inch of the room was covered in the twin’s favorite colors, hot pink and raven black. Oddly, the colors fit together perfectly. The walls had been charmed the colors for the occasion, even the fire had a slight pink tinge to it. Then, without warning the brown pants and plain white shirt Harry had been wearing was transformed into an alarming shade of pink. 

“Aww,” Sirius pouted, looking down at his all black outfit. “Why can’t I have pink?” 

Jasmine laughed, and with a wave of one of her hands, a house elf changed the color of Sirius’ clothes. 

“Yes!” He pumped his fist into the air. “Success, Remy.” Sirius leaned over and kissed Remus on the cheek with a big smack. Remus smiled indulgently. 

The food on the table was varied in color, shape, and even texture, but one thing was the same, it was all candy. 

“A lot of it is from Japan,” Blaise told him. “I would avoid those,” he said, smacking a red, liquorish looking piece out of Harry’s hand. They will turn your face red for a week, and since school starts back tomorrow, I don’t think Professor Snape would appreciate your lack of house pride.” 

To which Harry answered, “Is there anything that can turn me green? Or silver?” 

A stage had been erected near the front of the room, and Sirius instantly found his way onto it. 

“This one goes out to one Remus Lupin.” 

The girls were more than happy to play backup singers, alternately performing amazing pop songs, the volume of which shook the room. Sirius’ hair somehow ended up in pigtails as he and Blaise sang a charming rendition of “Girls Just Want To Have Fun”. Harry had never laughed so hard. Blaise, wrapped in a hot pink feather boa, motioned for Harry to join them on the stage. Harry locked eyes with Remus, and nodded. Even Harry couldn’t say no to the magic of Cyndi Lauper. 

Harry’s head smacked hard against the window of the train. 

“Ouch,” Harry murmured. 

“Here,” Blaise said, passing Harry some water. “You can’t fall asleep, the gang will be here soon.” 

Oh joy, Harry thought. It would be an endless journey of listening as Tracey and Pansy swapped backhanded compliments about whose summer was better and who had gotten the better tan. Sirius and Remus, in most likely a true hungover state, were a little worried about Harry riding the train. Sirius had paced Harry’s room for a good thirty minutes talking about just apparating them both to the grounds, but then Blaise had said, “The girls sure would be disappointed.” 

Harry had wondered what the twins had to do with anything when Blaise spoke again. 

“Tracey has been begging me to let her see Harry first. Apparently, she told him last year that if his hair was once again the scraggly disaster that it had been last year then she was going to give him a serious dressing down. And,” Blaise smiled. “I really want to see that.” 

Blaise ruffled Harry’s now shorter hair, and Harry hoped that it would be enough to get him out of another of Davis’ lectures about his appearance. 

“And then, there’s Millicent, and Sirius, while I am aware that you have spent a good chunk of time in Azkaban you should know that whatever terrors you may have  
encountered there can come close to a pissed off Bulstrode.” 

Remus grabbed Harry’s chin that was unconsciously nodding along with Blaise’s speech, and looked down at him. 

“Do you want to ride the train Harry or would you like for us to apparate you all the way?” 

Images of the graveyard flashed in Harry’s mind, and he knew that at some point he would have to see the son’s and daughter’s of the men who had tried to kill him. He would have to eat at the same table, sleep in the same room, and go to the same classes with the very people who may now have orders to do him harm. He knew that Hogwarts and Dumbledore offered him some measure of protection, but that didn’t change the fact the very people he lived and slept with now served a different master. A master who wanted him dead at all costs. 

“I’ll ride the train,” Harry decided. 

Though now, with the slight rocking motion of people boarding the train stirring the sugary contents of his stomach he wasn’t so sure that was as wise of a decision as he thought. 

Blaise had made sure that only the girls would be accompanying them. Millicent, Tracey, Pansy, Daphne, and even her little sister, Astoria. It seemed to be a concerted effort to make Harry feel more at ease organized between Blaise and Millicent. 

“Even if they have been ordered to kill you on sight, I doubt they could get over how different you look in time to do much harm before you countered.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, not bothering to remove his head from the cool glass of the window. 

“Traveling, demontors, and Cyndi Lauper must agree with you, Potter, because you’re looking quite the catch.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond. 

Harry had noticed some slight changes in himself now that he was no longer under the Dursley’s care. He was slightly taller, though not much, and he now filled out his clothes. He had had a haircut, which Sirius had assured him looked stylish, carelessly roguish whatever that meant. He felt secure in himself. So secure that he had danced and shamelessly flirted with that guy at the Zabini’s party. No, not that guy, Malfoy. He had to separate the two of them in his mind because that’s what they were, separate.

The boy Harry had danced with wanted to kiss Harry. Malfoy wanted to kill him. 

“Oooohhhh myyyy Merlin!!!!!” a shrill voice belonging to Tracey Davis echoed throughout the apartment. 

“Sweet Salazar,” another voice said, “Is that Potter?” And Harry recognized that voice as Pansy’s. The girls rushed in and immediately took the seat beside him and in front of him. 

“Pansy, just look, just look at him. How on Earth?” 

“Tell me, Potter, immediately, what secret Black Family Magic was worked on you, and how much will it cost so I can have the same?” 

Harry blushed at the girl’s ramblings. Surely he didn’t look that different.

Harry saw her before she saw him. Millicent. 

“Holy Merlin,” Millicent said. She stood in the doorway of the compartment her mouth hanging open. 

Harry thought she was going to say something about his new look too, but she merely said, “It’s hotter than a troll’s underbelly in here.” She moved her hand, and Tracey  
gave up her seat beside Harry. 

“It must be you Pansy. What hot air are you spitting in here?” 

Harry chuckled. Pansy pouted. 

Millicent looked the same as she had last year, but her cheeks and neck seemed flushed and red. 

“What happened to you?” Harry asked. Then remembering Ron’s letter from the summer stating that Millicent had become quite the staple at the Burrow as she helped the twins with their various products he thought he could guess. 

“Yeah, Mil,” said Pansy, ready to launch a counter attack for her hot air comment. “Looks like you’re coming down with something? Perhaps a sickly red headed, destitute disease that will not only leave you feeling shamed but also used and drawn?” 

Millicent eyed her. 

“How did you know? I know you certainly have never had my ailment before or you would not have recovered.” 

“Eww!!” Harry and Pansy said in unison. 

“I do not want to think of you and that red-headed demon,” said Pansy. 

“And I love him, but honestly, Mil, neither do I.” 

Millicent wagged her eyebrows up and down. 

“Fine then, Potter,” 

Pansy clapped her hands together, making Harry jump. 

“Let’s have a change in subject. Millicent have you got nothing to say about Harry’s new look.” 

Millicent turned to him, and looked him up and down, paying careful attention to his face and hair. 

“Uhh,” she mumbled. “New haircut?” 

“Yes, actually,” said Harry, laughing. Pansy moaned into her hands. 

Millicent leaned into him as Daphne and Astoria walked into the compartment, and instantly began commenting on his appearance. “You look good, Potter,” she said. 

“Thanks, Mil,” Harry said. Not blushing at all. 

***  
Harry spoke the password to the common room. The Welcoming Feast at Hogwarts never disappointed. Harry had indulged in all of his favorites, and now he was feeling a little worse for wear. The Great Hall was loud and the students were boisterous. The new students were sorted, and Slytherin received quite a few first years.

But the table had quieted when Malfoy cleared his throat. Malfoy, of course, had been chosen prefect as well as Pansy, who had been in and out of the compartment performing her duties the entire train ride. And in an unusual change of event, Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle once. Harry wasn’t sure what he expected. Wands drawn. Words spoken. Something. Instead, the terrible trio had never even looked at him. Not once throughout the whole dinner. 

The whole thing made Harry feel off. Thankfully, the girls had continued their corral, and sat around him at dinner, keeping the conversation moving fluidly. 

“I’ll bet you’ll get that one,” Tracey said to Daphne pointing at a dark haired girl who had just been sorted into Slytherin. 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 

“Aww,” said Blaise, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. “The mentor program. I assume we’ll get our assignments when we get back to the common room.” 

Harry shook his head. 

“Each year the fifth year students get one first year to sort of look after and mentor,” explained Millicent. “It’s supposed to help ease the transition.” 

“But we never got a mentor,” Harry said. 

“Yes, you did, Potter,” said Pansy, butting into the conversation. “Your mentor probably just didn’t think that the great Harry Potter needed anyone’s help.” 

Harry nearly choked. 

“When! When I was almost murdered first year, when the basilisk attacked me second year, when the dementors….” 

“Yes, yes,” said Pansy. “No need to regale us with your history, we are all quite familiar with the tragedy that is your life.”

“Maybe they worked behind the scenes,” offered Blaise. “It’s what I plan to do. Be too nice to a first year, and you could have a newbie stuck to your side for the rest of term. I  
will be taking a backseat approach as I think that firsties need to spread their wings, live, make mistakes, blah, blah, blah.” 

Pansy chuckled. 

Harry looked down the table at the new students. They all looked so small, so fragile. Harry wondered if he had looked like that. Probably smaller, a voice in his head said. Harry  
blocked the images of Pivet Drive from his mind, and focused on his plate. 

At the end of the meal, Draco and Pansy rose from the table, and ushered all of the first years from the hall. Harry had watched him as he stood. It was okay then because everyone was looking. There was nothing wrong with looking at Malfoy, he told himself. Malfoy didn’t realize that it was Harry that he had danced with or said those things to. 

Only Harry did. And it wasn’t like he was planning to let on any time soon. 

Harry walked around the halls until he knew he was closing in on curfew and Snape’s yearly welcome address. Harry wasn’t two feet into the common room when a folder was shoved in his face. 

“Your assignment,” muttered Pansy, her hands full of a stack of other papers, that Harry assumed were schedules and new handbooks for the first years. Malfoy was standing near the fire obviously waiting for Professor Snape. 

Harry moved to the back of the room beside Millicent who was sucking on a lollipop. She turned and offered it to him. 

Harry started to lean down before, “Did you get that from Fred?” 

“Maybe,” Millicent sing-songed. 

“Perhaps not.” 

“Look at him,” Millicent said, looking towards the fire place, and since it would seem odd not to, Harry reluctantly glanced toward Malfoy. The students were sitting by year around  
the fireplace. Malfoy as prefect was standing along the head boy and girl. Malfoy looked harried in the firelight as he batted questions from two over eager first years who Harry guessed were likely twins. 

Millicent laughed. 

“It looks like he’s going to have a coronary.” 

Harry noticed Malfoy’s hurried manners, and his eyes darting toward the door as he answered the two bouncy first years, but Harry also saw the slight uptick of Malfoy’s lips.  
He may have looked like he was hating this, but Harry suspected that Malfoy had quite the sweet spot for children. For some reason, that made Harry want to smile. 

Just as Harry was about to comment, Snape brushed into the room his midnight black robes swirling behind him. 

“Hello, my name is Professor Snape, and I am your head of house. You have just joined the house of the cunning. While you are here, your house is your family.” 

Harry tuned out the rest of Snape’s speech as the man very nearly repeated the same thing every year. This year, it seemed, with less enthusiasm than ever before. Instead, Harry cast his eyes over the youngest in the room. I wonder if any of their fathers were in the graveyard that night. Harry shook his head. He then turned his attention to his year mates. They all looked slightly different in one way or another. No longer did they more closely resemble the first year children that they once had been, but more like the adults that they would one day become. Growth spurts at fifteen were still happening, changes to their bodies were manifesting, but at this age, they were well on their way to the looks that they would carry at least for a short while in adulthood. 

“So, who did you get?” Millicent asked him. Harry opened the folder in his hands, and read, “Silas Finch. No idea who that is.” 

Millicent scanned the dispersing crowd, and motioned to a tiny dark haired boy who had been sitting beside Malfoy’s questioners during Snape’s speech. 

“The Finch’s aren’t bad people. They normally prefer to stay in the background. Quiet. Observant.” 

“So, not servers to the man who would like to kill me?” 

Millicent shook her head, no, but continued to look at him oddly. 

“You’re not worried about that, are you? You’re safe here as long as Dumbledore is in this castle. Besides, the DL will need some time to recuperate both his body and his  
army. I didn’t want to say anything on the train, but Harry, things aren’t going to be the same as they have been every other year. These people,” she looked around the room, eyeing the various students milling about, talking to one another, and getting ready to head to bed. 

“are not your friends. They might consider you a classmate, but some of them, some of their families answer to a higher authority now than that of school spirit.” 

Harry nodded, meekly. He tried to tell Millicent that he understood. 

“Aut viam invenian aut faciam." 

Millicent smirked, "You've learned well.” 

Harry wasn’t ready to go to bed yet. On the train, he decided that he was going to wait until the last possible moment to go to bed. He wasn’t running afraid, but he needed some quiet before he could put the wards up on his bed, and there was no quiet in the dorm until all of the boys went to sleep. 

With that in mind, Harry decided that he might take a trip up to Gryffindor Tower, and see if Ron was still up and about. He didn’t bother with his cloak because he still had a bit left before curfew, and he knew he could make it back in time. The Welcome Feast, as good as it is, normally had the whole of Hogwarts knocked out pretty quickly. There was a serious conspiracy started by some Ravenclaws that the house elves doused the food on the first night to calm the horde of excited children. Harry thought the idea had merit. It was way better than the theory that Binns was really just a curtain McGonagall transfigured to mess with us. 

Harry was nearly at the stairs that lead to the Great Hall then onward to Gryffindor Tower when he felt someone pull him into a pitch black classroom. And here it was. The prank. The joke. The reason that Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle hadn’t said a word to him the whole day. It was all leading to this. 

“Alright, then, haha, now,” said Harry. “Where’s the dementors? Malfoy? Crabbe? Goyle? The Demented Duo and the Malice Malfoy making their second act.” Harry laughed  
loudly. He wasn’t afraid of them. It wasn’t like they were going to… 

And then the first punch landed on his stomach. Harry doubled over, and went for his wand, but before he could his hand was snatched and his arm was pulled forcefully behind his back. Then, he felt another punch, this time to his face. 

Harry struggled to get loose, but then someone else had his other arm before he could get free. He pulled himself to the ground, hoping to dislodge the two assailants that were holding him back. He learned a few things after fighting off Dudley and his friends all those years. But this was different. 

Then the kicks came down on his back. Harry screamed, but then another foot made contact with his face. One more, and he was out. 

There was something wrong with his legs. He couldn’t move them, and he sure couldn’t stand. He had found his wand, but all of the fingers on his right hand were broken and he couldn’t hold it much less cast with it. It must have been well past curfew by then, but even as he tried to exclaim his contempt he could barely move his jaw without excruciating pain. 

Achingly he crawled out of the room. 

Harry thought that it might be Snape. He thought he was close to the man’s office. It would just be perfect for the man to find him in this state. He probably wouldn’t even call Madam Pomfrey. If Harry’s mouth wasn’t so sore he would probably have laughed. He wondered what he would say for himself. “Sorry, but I can’t go one whole day around a group of people without them wanting to kill me”. 

Harry briefly considered if he was cursed. 

“Oh my gosh! Potter!!” 

Harry felt himself being flipped over, and suddenly he was staring into the most stunning face that he had ever seen. Soft cheeks, delicate strands of hair that fell in front of panicked stricken eyes. 

Harry could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness. The light that the man was now shining in his eyes seemed to flicker, though Harry knew that the man’s lumos was holding still. 

“Don’t do this to me, Harry, everything is going to be okay. I promise. Come on, Potter.” 

Harry then felt something wet splash onto his face. He sat up slightly despite the pain in his ribs. His mind clearing for a flickering moment. 

“Wait….” He mumbled. “Malfoy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Aut viam invenian aut faciam." = I'll either find a way or make one.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting. I apologize for the cliffhanger. I thought that I had this part of the story up before I went on vacation, but apparently I did not. I, also, went and got a real life job so that has been equal parts exhilarating and stressful. Who knew there were so many hoops to jump on the way to gainful employment? Thank you for sticking with me.

Harry knew he was in the hospital wing. He didn’t even need to open his eyes to tell. He could feel the familiar lumps in the hospital bed’s mattress. He could hear Madam Pomfrey humming slightly as she moved from place to place. He could taste the bland, chalklike substance in his mouth that spoke of having being forced fed some pepper up potion. Harry decided to just lay for a second, and enjoy the bright light shining through his eye lids. His body was sore, but it was nothing like the pain he had felt when he had come crawling through that hallway. 

If he laid here for long enough, perhaps he could just forget the whole thing. Then, the door of the hospital wing was thrown open. 

“Millicent, no!” Harry heard Hermione yell. 

He scrambled out of his bed, and threw open the curtains, realizing that he wasn’t quite as well as healed as he thought he was. He landed on his feet, but his groan of pain was drowned out with the sound of spell fire. 

Harry was almost out into the open, when he was once again left with an arm full of Malfoy. Harry looked up into the blonde’s face that was white as a sheet except for the red slash across his cheek. They both looked up in time to see Millicent throw another hex at Malfoy’s head. They rolled together as one behind the curtain. Hermione stepped in front of Millicent. 

“You deserve it, you little….”

“Mil, you’ll hurt Harry.” 

The sound of Harry’s name seemed to snap Millicent out of it. 

She lowered her wand, and stopped the curse that was on her lips. 

“Harry?” she questioned. 

Harry’s head hit the floor as he mumbled to Malfoy, “Can you get off me, please?”

Malfoy looked like he would rather jump off the astronomy tower than separate himself from Harry who was working as quite the effective shield against Millicent and her wand. 

Harry turned to look at Millicent. 

“It’s all right, Mil. Malfoy was the one who found me.” 

Harry locked eyes with Draco, and nodded. 

Malfoy rolled off Harry to the left, keeping Harry closest to Millicent. Hermione moved forward, and helped Harry get to his feet. Draco leaned his back against the bed, and Harry unable to stand any longer sat beside him. Millicent and Hermione stood in front of them. 

“Someone tell me what happened before I start hexing people again,” Millicent said, eyeing the three people around her. 

Malfoy cleared his throat.

“I found Harry in the corridor near the Slytherin dorms. He was….” 

“Beat like a dog,” Harry said, speaking up. “Three, maybe four, five guys grabbed me when I was heading up to the Tower to say “Hi,” to Ron. At first, I thought it was Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle intent on pranking me until someone threw the first punch.” 

Hermione gasped. 

“Who?” demanded Millicent. Her eyes were shining with fury. Every inch of her looked a live and deadly wire. “Who did this to you?” 

Harry shook his head. 

“I have no idea. It was pitch black, but I know it wasn’t Malfoy. I remember him finding me, and you can’t fake the shock that I saw on his face.” 

“Did you see who did it?” Hermione asked Malfoy. 

Draco shook his head. “Just Harry. I levitated him, and took him straight here. Snape and Dumbledore were called quickly afterward. Pomfrey was going to call your…whatever they are, but she wanted to hear how this happened first.” 

Harry nodded. What was he going to say? The truth? That would only make Sirius and Remus worry, but he knew that if he said nothing and something like this happened again then he would have two very angry godparents to contend with. 

“Did they say anything?” Millicent asked. 

“No,” scoffed Harry, “but I’m pretty sure that we can assume why they did it. It’s not much of a secret that I’m public enemy number one.” 

“And not just from the Slytherins,” Hermione said. 

“What’s being said?” Millicent asked, looking like she was ready to take her wand back out and march right up to the Tower. 

“Seamus was pretty vocal last night about what they have been saying in the Prophet about you and Dumbledore,” answered Hermione. “Ron tried to shut him up and stand up for you, but then things got physical between the two of them. That’s why Ron’s not here, he and Seamus are currently attending detention with McGonagall.” 

Millicent clapped her hands. “Serves that little Irish punk, right. I never liked him.” 

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “Well, it seemed that quite a few people shared his opinion. A lot of the information that they have been getting is coming straight from the Prophet. It’s disgusting.” 

“It’s slander,” said Malfoy, rising from the ground. The three others looked at him. “It really is a simple legal matter, Potter. Skeeter and the Prophet are all blatantly slandering you and Dumbledore. Dumbledore can’t really do much because he’s not only an adult but a public figure, but you,” Draco ran a hand threw his blonde hair. “You, Potter, are still a minor for at least two years, and while they received, I’m sure, permission from the school to cover certain events regarding the tournament, what they have been doing lately is quite frankly illegal.” 

Hermione nodded. 

“I think he’s right. There’s no way anything like this would be allowed in the muggle world,” she said. 

“So, what do we do?” Harry asked. 

Draco pursed his lips. 

“You’re not going to like it, but we should contact your, uh, guardians.”

“We?” Harry asked him. 

Malfoy nodded. 

“Why not? That woman had the nerve to write quite a few scandalous things when I was out of the country this summer, and I intend to make her pay for each and every word, and if I have to do that through you, then I’m okay with it.”

Harry’s interest was piqued. He hadn’t picked up a copy of the Prophet all summer, but if there was Malfoy Blackmail material out there then he wanted to read it.

Malfoy turned to Hermione. 

“Granger, I know you’ve got parchment and ink handy.” Hermione immediately began to scrounge in her bag before pulling out the asked for items. She handed them to Malfoy. 

“Now, let’s make that witch pay.” 

***

Harry, Malfoy, Hermione, and Millicent had sat and written out a letter to Sirius and Remus. He knew that the letter would bring both Sirius and Remus to Hogwarts, but it was better for them to know from Harry then for them to hear about the incident from another source. Millicent, to be specific. Harry couldn’t physically write the letter so Hermione wrote for him while Harry, with the occasional addition by Draco, dictated.

They had left him soon after, and Harry was left alone in his hospital bed. Classes would began in a couple days, and Harry was determined that he be ready to attend. Whoever did this to him, he promised himself wouldn’t get to see him sweat. Still, as he lied in the hospital wing that night every time Madam Pomfrey would shuffle inside her office, or the wind blew too intensely against the windows by his bed Harry would feel his battered muscles tense. His heart would begin to pound, and sweat formed on his forehead. Rationally, he knew that nothing could get him here. That he was safe, but he kept seeing figures in the dark. 

Harry woke with the imprint of his wand molded into his hand. 

The next morning, he told Madam Pomfrey that he was ready to leave. He didn’t tell her that he could stand one more restless night as his mind tracked imagined horrors around the room. For Harry, it was better to be in an environment where he knew he very well might be in trouble than one he was supposed to be safe and have those horrors find him anyway. It reminded him too much of what he had gone through on Pivet Drive. There, it was always better when he faced the brunt of the Dursleys hatred head on than have it jump out at him just when he thought he was happy.   
Madam Pomfrey was not impressed with his desire to leave the hospital wing, but he assured her that he was well enough. Harry was just slipping on his outer robe when the doors of the hospital wing opened.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Sirius said, busting into the room. Remus straight on his heels. Sirius raised his wand threateningly towards Harry. “You will sit down, young man, or I will make you sit down. You are not leaving this room, until those cowards are sought and hung up by their dangly bits.” 

Harry looked to Remus, but the man merely said, “Yes, and then put into a room with Moony.” 

Harry, ignoring the wand too close to his face, reached for his bag, but in a move that reminded Harry that Remus was, in fact, once his professor, Remus had the bag flying out of his reach before Harry could even touch it. 

“I need to go back,” Harry said through gritted teeth. 

It was unusual for him to be angry with Sirius or Remus, but this was something that he had to do. The pair of them had never backed down from a fight, and Harry wasn’t going to either. “Please,” Harry said, and felt more shame than he had ever felt when hot, frustrated tears sprang to his eyes. 

“Oh, pup,” Sirius said, and the two men were instantly beside him. 

Harry felt the well of anger and fear and terror that had wrapped around him ever since the attack break into rolling hot tears that slid down his face, and soaked into Sirius’ shirt. Was this what life was going to be like for him? Was this going to be his future? Hunted because he spoke the truth? Hunted and unbelieved because Voldemort and his cronies shared in the truth, but weren’t ready for the world to know that the creature himself had made a reappearance? 

“Harry,” Sirius called soothingly as he rubbed his hand up and down Harry’s spine. 

Harry lifted his head from the man’s shoulder. He noticed then that Sirius, too, had been crying. 

“I’m going to flay them alive,” Sirius promised. “All of them. Even Voldemort, himself.” Remus nodded seriously beside him. “Now,” said Remus. “What we need is a plan. Not to keep you safe or coddled,” Remus clarified on seeing Harry’s face. 

“But to make sure that the next time something like this happens, and I’m afraid, pup, that it will. That you will be prepared.” 

Sirius reached into the pocket of his robes, and handed Harry a wrapped package. With careful movements, Harry opened the package. It was a mirror. 

“It’s a two way mirror,” Sirius said. “Your dad and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions. I have one as well, and with them, we can communicate no matter the distance.” 

Harry was stunned. 

“Thank you,” he muttered. This was an amazing present, and one that had belonged to his father. It was another piece of the man that Harry would never have the opportunity to get to know. 

“And you have the map,” Remus asked. 

Harry nodded. 

“It’s in my school bag,” Harry said. 

Remus reached into the bag, and pulled out the famed Marauders Map. He passed it over to Sirius. Sirius handled the map like it was a newborn. He lovingly brushed his fingers over the ink on the parchment. 

“It’s time that we show you some of the more hidden aspects of this thing, and we promise that we will let you stay in school, but you have to keep these things with you at all times.” 

Harry bristled a little at the word “let”, but one look at Remus assured Harry that the two had already had a very long conversation about this already and that if Harry objected even a little that Remus was likely to allow Sirius to bundle him up back in Grimmauld Place and force feed him tea and sweets until he was too big to be removed from the premises. 

Harry nodded. “Of course, I will. Now, that I know that they aren’t afraid to attack me here. I’ll be more careful. Millicent, Ron, and Hermione have already worked out a full schedule so that I won’t be alone for any other time than to shower, and I heard that Blaise had called dibs on that.” 

Sirius chuckled lowly. 

Just as the two men were about to launch into their plans, Harry said, “There’s one more thing.” 

Sirius and Remus nodded, waiting for him to continue. 

Harry sat up straighter. 

“I want Skeeter’s head.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting. I appreciate all the feedback, love, and support. Things are about to get deep so put your scuba gear on. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, but full of love. 
> 
> JK rowling, call me, I have an idea.

As Harry sat in the Great Hall on the first day of class, his thoughts were full of golden ringlets, cat eye glasses, red lip stick, and cheap alligator handbags. He chuckled thinking about just how miserable the witch was about to be with the full weight of his godparents wrath and the substantial Black vaults bearing down on her. Sirius and Remus should be at the Ministry right now filing proceedings against the Prophet for making undue claims against a minor. 

The Great Hall was as noisy as ever, but Harry didn’t miss the looks that people were sending his way. He had refused to let either Madam Pomfrey or Sirius heal the bruises on his face. He had hid his bruises for too long while living at Pivet Drive. He would not hide them now. Millicent thought that it might be admitting weakness, but Harry saw it another way. One, the brutality of the bruises would show people that he could take a hit and still be at breakfast the next morning his pumpkin juice. Two, it would silence any lingering thoughts from people who thought that he was in some way due for some comeuppance whether from the articles or from the tournament last year. And Third, someone might slip, and Harry might be able to spot his aggressors in the crowd of faces. 

“Popular as always,” Blaise said, sitting down in front of him. “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds without someone ruining my carefully crafted work.” 

“I’m not a piece of art,” Harry said. 

“No,” Blaise replied, “but the bruises do add to your devil may care look. Hufflepuffs everywhere will think twice about asking you for help in Potions now.” 

“I did always say you were a bad influence,” Millicent said, sitting down beside Blaise, and patting his cheek lovingly. 

She didn’t look at Harry, but Harry knew that the two of them sat in front of him to block him from the sight of other students. 

“Any news from the dogparents?” Millicent asked. 

Harry shook his head. “But they’re most likely working right now. We should hear something by tomorrow for sure.” 

Millicent smiled devilishly. 

Pansy rushed into the hall, her arms full of papers. 

“And here, we go,” Millicent muttered under her breath. 

Harry watched as a rather flustered looking Pansy sat down beside Tracey Davis, and instantly began sorting through several books and pieces of parchment. 

“What’s that all about?” Harry asked. 

“OWLs,” said Millicent. “Fifth year exams. These will be the exams that determine what classes you’re eligible for next year. And since Pansy is determined that she will be the smartest trophy wife in history, she’s obsessed with, “Getting things in order as soon as possible”.

Millicent mimes gagging into her porridge. 

“Who’s that at the head table?” 

Millicent didn’t turn her head, but Harry saw the way that she tensed. 

Harry watched the head table out of the corner of his eye. Snape was sitting in his usual spot beside Professor McGonagall, but on the other side of the table sat a newcomer. Harry assumed that she must be the new DADA professor, though Harry thought the pink get up was a little too on the nose to let them all know that she was evil. Couldn’t villains hide better than that? 

“You recognize her?” Millicent asked him. 

Harry nodded. The woman in pink was now looking in their direction. “She was at my hearing. She works for Fudge.” 

“So, she’s probably not your biggest fan.” 

“She can get in line,” Harry replied.

“And here coms your number one fan,” Blaise said as Malfoy waltzed into the hall. 

Harry didn’t bother looking at the Malfoy heir. He could always sense when Draco was near. And the two had decided before Draco left the hospital the other day, that neither of them would discuss Draco’s involvement in Harry’s rescue. If Draco wanted to help Harry then Harry had a role he could fill. Spy.

Draco didn’t promise much, but he did promise to keep his ears open for any indication about who had beaten Harry. Harry could tell that the incident had gotten to Draco. While Harry was used to certain amounts of physical altercations, Draco as well as the rest of the pureblood population were unused to using their fists to solve problems. Draco probably would have been less fazed if Harry’s attackers had cursed him with a volley of hexes rather than punches. 

“What do we have first?” Harry asked, not bothering to look at his schedule. 

Blaise laughed lightly. 

“Fudge’s pink toad for defense. May the fun begin.”

Fun indeed, Harry thought. 

The walk from the Great Hall to the Defense classroom was filled with speculating glances and whispers, but Harry knew that they would eventually fade. They faded when they thought that he was the Heir of Slytherin, and they would fade now. But you didn’t kill anyone then, a voice said in Harry’s mind.

Harry shook the thought loose. He couldn’t let a thought like that take root inside his mind. He didn’t kill anyone. Voldemort did. Voldemort was the one who killed Warrington. Not him. He didn’t do anything wrong. No matter what anyone else gossiped. 

The defense classroom changed and shifted with the style of the professor. Lockhart had preferred portraits of himself painting portraits of himself and more mirrors than Harry thought proper to own. Remus had preferred books, and the creatures themselves to study and understand. Even Crouch Jr. had a very fine aesthetic going with his various utensils of death and dismemberment. 

Upon looking at one Dolores Umbridge new DADA teacher, one would think that her room would be covered in floor to ceiling patterned wall paper, dollies, with a record player in the corner that played an endless loop of human screams, but it was surprisingly minimalistic. It was almost as if she didn’t want you to be distracted. You were to look at her, and only at her. The only ornamentation in the room was a blackboard that had OWLs written on it. Harry only hoped that her skills as a teacher were better than her wardrobe choices. He already had one over done witch to deal with, he didn’t need another. 

Coming straight from breakfast, the three of them were a little early for class, but the others in his year were quickly filing in. Pansy had finally managed to organize her belongings while Malfoy seemed to be in a playful mood. He had folded a rather impressive paper bird, and was now enchanting it to fly around the room. 

Harry would never tell him this, but he was always envious of this particular skill. It was something that wizarding children learned when they were younger. It was a fun way for wizarding parents to keep fussy toddlers calm or to wear out any excess energy. Harry wondered briefly if his parents had ever made one for him. 

Goyle sat beside Malfoy, but was turned around in his chair to talk to Crabbe. While Crabbe was busy staring at a dull eyed Tracey Davis as she filed her nails with her wand.   
A few Gryffindor girls, Pavarti and Lavendar watched her and giggled. Little did they know that while Davis was more than adept at filing her nails she could also use that spell to slice open opponents. Giggly know nothing in public hex savant in private. But weren’t they all more than one thing. 

No one had bothered him about the articles in the Prophet in the common room, but that might have to do with Snape’s long time ban of the rag from his domain. If it was factual or academic, Snape didn’t want to see it. It was one of the few rules that the man laid out every year, and no one seemed inclined to test their head of house’s patience even if it meant possibly getting one over on the Harry Potter. 

Harry wondered briefly how many of them knew the truth of what had happened to him? Was he now sitting in a room with one or more of the people who had beaten him? 

Millicent is sitting with Daphne Greengrass while Blaise has decided to sit with him. Harry’s smiles at Mil, grateful that he’s sitting in a position that will allow him to see just how many times she rolls her eyes at their new “professor”. If it was more than five Blaise owed him a box of Honeyduke’s finest chocolates. Mil always was in her finest form on the first day of school. 

Harry wondered briefly what Fred and George were up to. He hadn’t seen them since the start of the term though he had heard from Mil that the twins were busy product testing some of their newest creations. Harry would have to watch what he ate in the future. 

Ron sat beside Hermione toward the front of the room. Apparently, the two were still going strong since last year. Hermione mentioned in the hospital that she had spent a considerable amount of her summer at the Burrow. Ron looked calm and happy though his shoulders tensed when Seamus and Dean took the seats behind them. Seamus didn’t even deem to look at Harry. Harry was unconcerned. Finnegan wasn’t worth the trouble it would take to confront him. Let him spout his rot. Skeeter would be taken care of soon enough. 

Harry was about to pull his wand from his bag when the shutters on the windows banged shut, and the not so pretty in pink professor waltzed into the room. 

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” she said, using her wand to underline each of the words on the blackboard. She then moved her wand to cast over a stack of books that floated then promptly fell onto each of their desks. 

“Magick Most Basic,” Hermione said, without raising her hand. She flipped through the book though Harry knew that she had most likely already read it. 

“But there’s nothing in here about using defensive spells. This is merely theory.” 

“Theory is sufficient for the O.W.L’s,” said Umbridge. 

“We won’t be using magic?” Ron said. 

“Worried about the lack of wand work, Weasley,” said Finnegan under his breath. He pointedly looked at Hermione who blessedly had all of her attention on their subpar syllabus.

Harry saw Ron’s face turn scarlet, but the boy’s detention with Professor McGonagall still fresh in his mind he didn’t do them all a favor and punch Finnegan in the face. 

Millicent on the other hand looked like she had plans for the Irish idiot. 

Hermione continued, “We won’t be learning defensive spells?” 

“Why on Earth would you have to learn defensive spells? What could possibly want to attack school children such as yourselves?” 

Harry had a great idea, but he sure as heck wasn’t going to put himself in this woman’s sights. Until, “What you have been told by certain members of our community is a lie. Cassius Warrington’s death was a tragic accident, but nothing more. The callous actions of a young man eager to prove himself.” 

“Excuse me?” Harry said, his words barely a whisper. 

He could stand this evil hag being a piss poor teacher, but he would not allow for Cassius’ name to be tarnished. His wand felt heavy in his pocket. 

Umbridge turned sharply on her heels. 

“Students will raise their hands if they wish to speak in my class!” 

Harry thrust in his hand in the air quicker than Hermione had ever done.

The whole class was now looking at him. Umbridge, too. She nodded her head quickly once to show that she had recognized his desire to speak. 

“Cassius Warrington did not die due to something that just happened to him,” Harry said. “He died because Voldemort killed him.” 

Umbridge smirked. She actually smirked. She then turned to the rest of the class. Harry was no longer worth her attention. 

“The events of the Triwizard Tournament were tragic, but I have it on excellent authority from the Minister of Magic himself…”

“The Minister of Magic,” Harry said, trying not to mimic the witch’s accent. “was not in the graveyard that night. I was. And I can tell you with the upmost authority that   
Cassius Warrington was murdered by Voldemort.” 

Umbridge started shaking her head vehemently. Harry continued. 

“Voldemort is back. He has risen again, and he will not stop until he has what he wants. He will kill and torture and….”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” the woman roared at him. 

Harry shuttered his expression, but his breathing was fast and shallow. She had gotten to him. 

“Students, I repeat, there is no threat. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not back amongst us.” She turned and walked back down the aisle toward Harry. “He is no more than a ghost story and a stain on our history. You must have faith in the Ministry.” 

Harry snorted. 

“You must have faith in the people in authority.” 

Harry was about to rise from his seat when she reached him and set a hand on his shoulder. 

“Mr. Potter, you will see me tonight for detention.” Then she leaned in, close enough that he could feel her breath on his cheek. 

“No one ever believes boys like you,” 

And suddenly it wasn’t Umbridge who was looking at him, but Uncle Vernon. The Uncle Vernon that he had buried not a couple of weeks ago. Harry tipped back in his chair, and tumbled to the floor. 

“Harry!” Blaise said, reaching down to help him back up. 

Harry looked to the front of the room, and there was Umbridge sitting at her desk, sipping her tea. Ron and Hermione were grudgingly copying out of their books like the rest of the class. It was like the whole scene hadn’t happened at all. Even Harry’s own books were open in front of him. His handwriting filled a half a page of parchment in front of him. 

Blaise sat his chair back up, and the few people who sniggered when he fell were now getting back to work. 

“Are you alright?” Blaise asked. 

Harry shook his head, yes, though he was anything but okay.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. Sorry, I've been MIA. Lets just say, I've been fighting off monsters from Tartarus.   
> Two chapters now, and one more tomorrow. I just want to thank God for giving me the inspiration to keep writing. Now, let's see what Harry is up too.

Harry jumped when Hermione slammed her books down on the table. Madame Pince looked at her sharply. 

“Umbridge, again?” Ron guessed, leaning over to kiss Hermione on the cheek. She leaned into him slightly, and Harry was glad to see that the two were still going strong. Still,   
Hermione was Hermione. 

“That woman is horrible. She’s not teaching us anything, and the more that we try and question her the more she makes us do imbecilic tasks. We had to copy from the textbook today, Harry. COPY FROM THE TEXTBOOK!” 

Ron placed his hand on hers, and looked to Madame Pince to make sure she wasn’t charging over with a heavy tome to brain them all for Mione’s outburst. 

“It really isn’t fair,” said Neville quietly. “My gran has talked about the importance of getting good OWL scores since I was five.” 

“They really are integral for our future,” Hermione said. 

Ron nodded. “Both Bill and Charlie got their fair share of OWLS, as well as Percy, even the twins did fair enough last year, not spectacular mind you.” 

“They make up for it in different ways,” Millicent said. 

“Eww,” said Ron. “I did not want to hear that.” 

Millicent just smiled evilly. “I meant, Fred’s huge…” 

“Do not finished that sentence,” Ron nearly screamed. Harry guffawed. 

Millicent brushed her hair to the side. 

“I was going to say intellect, you gutter mind,” finished Millicent. “Besides, don’t we have better things to be concerned about? Like Umbridge, perhaps?” 

Those two words got Hermione going again. And for the next thirty minutes the group did far more complaining than they did studying. 

***

Harry plomped down on the couch in the common room. The fireplace was going, and the room was warm. The rest of his year mates were gathered around. Fifth year status basically allowed them to have free reign over the center of the room while the lower years were regulated to the outskirts. Harry extended his legs onto the table in front of him, but Millicent knocked his legs down. 

Harry smirked. 

“See,” started Blaise. “That is the difference between us and them.” 

“What do you mean?” said Harry. 

“All gryffindors want to do is complain.” 

Harry scoffed. 

“Isn’t that what we are about to do,” asked Harry. He thought they were sitting down to have a good old blasting session. 

“Of course, not, Potter. Complaining is for the lower classes,” said Draco Malfoy. “What we are going to do is strategize.” 

“Strategize for what?” Harry asked as Malfoy settled in beside him. 

“For how to outlast this woman,” Pansy said, taking a seat opposite them on the other couch. Harry could feel Draco’s weight pressed against his side. He thought about moving   
over, but decided it was far too cold in the dungeon for that. If Malfoy wanted to scoot over, he could. He was the one who sat beside Harry in the first place. 

Malfoy didn’t move. 

Pansy reached into her bag, and pulled out some parchment and a quill. 

“Now, how to make it through this year unscathed.” 

After a quarter of an hour, the fifth year Slytherins had worked out a comprehensive study schedule, equipped with timeslots for practical lessons from upper years that would be taking place in the common room several nights a week. Harry was unsure that the upper years would agree to this, but apparently it had been a direct edict from Snape himself. Participation was mandatory, though, Harry didn’t think that anyone was going to turn down the chance to actually learn something this year. 

“Next, we need to discuss first year assignments. Coral will be coming by shortly to hand them out.” 

“Assignments? What assignments?” Harry hated to admit it, but he was loathe to take on anymore work. While Umbridge was refusing to teach them much of anything, it seemed that the rest of his professors were doubling up on tasks and homework in an effort to prepare them for their OWLs. 

Pansy snorted, clearly unimpressed with Harry’s ignorance. 

Draco gave her a sharp look. “He wouldn’t know, Pansy dear, please keep the snide looks to yourself.” 

Ignoring the fact that Malfoy just stood up for him, Harry asked, “Know what?” 

Draco turned to face him, his knee brushing Harry’s. “Each year, all fourth year Slytherin students get a first year to help and mentor. Snape allowed you to be exempt last year because of the tournament, but this year, it’s time to do your part.” 

“Why would they need a mentor? I didn’t get one when I was a first year,” Harry said. The room quieted immediately. Everyone turned to Harry and looked at him with struck   
faces. Even Pansy looked upset. 

“You did,” said Malfoy gently. “Your mentor was Warrington.”


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted 11/11/20

The mentor program, Harry learned, was really quite easy. For the most part, mentors were tasked with looking after their respective first years. Were they doing okay in classes? Were they homesick? Did Snape need to be contacted for any reason? Most of the time, the mentor program was never revealed to the first year. 

“It’s more to keep track of them, and intervene if necessary, not to coddle little first years to stop them from gaining any independence,” Malfoy explained in his usual haughty tone. 

Harry thought that it was a bit odd that he had never heard of this before, but it made sense. Slytherin, more than any other house, was known as the house that takes care if its own. Sure, he had heard of Fred, George, and Percy looking after Ron and Ginny, but they were family. And if anything similar happened in Gryffindor, Hermione would have said something by now. 

Harry’s second year was a tiny, dark haired boy named George Winsome. His file had him down as a half-blood from a well-off family that apparently had apparently had a decently well off chain of apothecaries in France and Germany. Snape was probably salivating over the ingredients he could get from the connections this kid could provide. 

Harry felt a strong urge to introduce himself, but the common theory around the school was that he was either a complete nutter or a liar, so he didn’t think little Winsome would appreciate being harassed by the boy who lived to tell tales. 

During the tournament, and all last year, Pansy had been stuck with both Winsome and her actual first year mentee. Pansy had thrust Winsome’s file at Harry and said, “It’s all in there.” 

Harry didn’t know whether to be frightened or thrilled that the kid’s file was so thick. Pansy, no doubt, had filled the file with musings about the kids style, his hair, and what his opinions on Witch Weekly were. Harry opened the file, and found that he was correct. Most of the pages were splashed with carelessly written ink dots. Pansy, while raised in the wizarding world, couldn’t ever get the hang of writing with a quill. Harry loved seeing Snape’s eyes roll to the back of his head every time he had to read one of her essays. 

Despite the near entire uselessness of Pansy’s notes, there were a few things that Harry thought were interesting. Apparently, the kid was a bit of a loner, though sociable enough with the rest of his year mates. Pansy thought it was a sign of snobbishness that he wasn’t more outgoing, though Harry thought that it might have been something else. 

In a bid to escape his own reality, Harry took to observing Winsome with the invisibility cloak. Blaise thought he was going a little overboard, but Harry decided that he should take his new mentor status seriously. 

Winsome spent most of his time in library. Harry had never noticed the kid before, but now that he was looking, Winsome spent nearly the same amount of time in the library that Hermione did, and that was saying something. The boy was studious, but friendly to his classmates. He nearly always had someone sitting with him, but he talked rarely. Harry got close enough to see one of his potion’s essays, and then, promptly felt a bit ashamed because clearly the kid knew more than even he did. 

Harry was about to turn tail, and head back to the dorm to work on his own essay for Snape, when he heard his name. Harry turned and saw Winsome and a couple of the other second years coming back from one of the aisles. 

“Everyone in school is talking about it,” said a blonde male second year, Harry thought might have been Greg’s charge. 

“Yes, we’ll that doesn’t mean that we should,” said the female second year that Harry knew had Draco. “My mentor said that we should just keep our heads down. Life is hard enough for us second years, we don’t need to antagonize a fifth year who is roommates with one of our prefects.” 

“Harry Potter doesn’t scare me,” said the blonde second year again. 

“He should,” muttered Winsome quietly. 

“What? George, speak up,” said the obnoxious blonde boy. 

Harry thought that his little charge would just give up, but instead, he spoke again this time louder and clearer. 

“Harry Potter should kill you if any of the things that they have been saying about him are true.” 

“Like what?” asked Draco’s charge. 

“Like the fact that he fought a certain someone when he was just a first year, and in second year he battled a real life basilisk, and in third year he took on a whole field of dementors.” 

The blonde boy scoffed, reminding Harry sharply of a younger Draco. “Those are just urban legends.” 

“I’m not too sure,” said Draco’s charge Harry thought was named Cora. “He does seem a bit intimidating.” 

Intimidating? Harry had never heard himself described that way. “And Malfoy said to not mess with him.” 

“What?” asked the blonde boy. “I’m not scared of Potter. He may act like he’s all big and bad bu…” 

“No,” the girl interrupted. “Malfoy said that Potter is under his families supervision, and that everyone is to stay out of his way. I took that to mean that we aren’t to discuss him either.” 

The girl eyed Winsome and the other boy speculatively. Winsome just nodded his head like he hadn’t considered it in the first, but the other boy continued, “So Potter is in bed with Malfoy? Huh?” 

Harry tried to ignore the turn of phrase, but his stomach still turned at the words. Why would Malfoy want to protect him? Was it because of the “incident” at the beginning of the year? Did Malfoy still feel like he owed him? Was it an edict from his father? Or was it something else? Harry didn’t know, but he was sure going to try and figure it out. He leaves the library, mentally adding another person to keep an eye on in his ever growing list.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, commenting, and kudosing. Also, just thanks for sticking with this story. I truly do love this fandom and all of you. 
> 
> I know that I am always looking for great fics, so I thought I would drop some recommendations here. 
> 
> If you want to read something amazing. I would suggest starting with "The Child of Azkaban" by LonelyHarvest. I was literally blown away by this one, and the imagery this person conjured lives rent free in my head. 
> 
> Next, is "You Could Be Great You Know" by Siriface. (No ship) 
> 
> Long Shadows on fanfiction.net (Snarry) 
> 
> Harry's First Detention and Harry's New Home (Melted my heart) by: kbinnz on fanfiction.net

Harry was about to bang his head against the wall. Maybe then he would be too stupid to tutor Greg in defense. If times were normal, he could pawn him off on the DADA instructor, but with Umbridge, it was decided that all tutoring matters should be handled in house. And since Harry was the best in defense, he had been chosen to help Greg. 

“For the last time, Greg, you move your wand in a circular motion before completing the figure eight,” Harry moaned into his fist. 

Greg tried the spell again without success. They were in the library and Harry had been working with Goyle for hours. While rather large and foreboding, Goyle could defend himself bodily, however, when it came to magic, he had always leant more toward Charms and even Herbology rather than defense. Gregory Goyle looked like a wizard who can take you down with one punch, but on the inside he was as soft as the soil in Professor Sprout’s greenhouse. Harry remembered this, and decided to try another tactic. 

Harry reached across the table, and grabbed Goyle’s plant that he had been tasked with caring for as an extra credit assignment from Professor Sprout. Goyle was fiercely protective of the thing, and his whole Herbology grade depended heavily on this extra work. Harry placed the plant in between himself and Goyle. Then he lifted his wand. 

“Now, Greg, I want you to look at me.” 

Greg, whose eyes hadn’t yet left the plant in front of him, now looked to Harry. Harry almost felt bad. “You know this material. You know how to cast “Protego”. I’m sure you do. You know the wand movement, and you know the incantation. What you lack is intention.” 

Goyle eyed him wearily, and Harry reminded himself that it beneath Goyle’s large exterior that he was really a softie. 

Harry locked eyes with the other Slytherin. 

“In five seconds, I am going to cast incendio on your plant, and do you know who Professor Sprout will blame?” 

“You wouldn’t,” Greg said, but the look in Harry’s eyes assured him that he would. 

Harry began to count, “One, Two,” 

Goyle looked like he was about to pass out, but Harry kept counting. 

“Three..” Goyle raised his wand. “Four…” He started to move it. “Five…,” Harry said, and then cast the incantation at the same time Goyle cast the shield spell. Harry’s spell bounced brilliantly off of Greg’s plant, and Goyle beamed up at him. 

Harry smirked, pleased that the gambit actually worked. 

Goyle grabbed his plant, and cradled it to his chest. 

“You’re an arsehole,” Goyle said to Harry. 

“Ah,” said Harry. “Maybe, but I’m an arsehole that just taught you how to protect yourself.” 

***

Harry let Greg go after that, having decided that it was enough for the day. Being able to cast Protego might not necessarily be on the curriculum, but it was something that Greg needed to know especially with Voldemort being back, and Goyle’s father being one of the men that Harry had seen in the graveyard that night. 

Harry tried not to think about that night, but like all bad memories, they tend to have wills of their own. It had been an unspoken agreement in the dormitory that no one talked about that night, and Harry was glad for it. It was enough that the memories that night and the incident at the beginning of the year haunted his dreams. He didn’t need any more waking nightmares coming for him then there already was. 

Harry had promised both Millicent and Hermione that he would not stay out late at night and that he wouldn’t walk the halls alone, but tonight, Harry was feeling restless.   
The first time that he had went for a swim in this particular bath he was trying to figure out the egg clue for the Tri-wizard Tournament. Now though he was seeking out the warm, colorful bath that more closely resembled a swimming pool than a tub for pleasure rather than advancement. 

At night, when Harry closed his eyes all he could see were flashes of green. It was easier to close them during the day. Harry took off of his clothes, and slid into the water. It was warm already, and Harry thought serenely that he loved magic. Practice for Quidditch hadn’t started yet, but Harry had been out on the field trying to get back into the swing of things. Several of the other house players had been out as well, but when the Hufflepuff team took to the field, Harry decided that it was time to go. 

There hadn’t been any of the open animosity that he experienced last year, but Harry didn’t want to take any chances. He watched them from the shadows of the bleachers for quite a while. The team seemed lost. And Harry knew that the weight of Cedric’s loss was weighing on them. Cedric would have graduated last year, but Hufflepuff had always been the most involved team at Hogwarts. The captain of Hufflepuff would not wait to bestow the Captainship on someone when they left Hogwarts, instead they would actively train their replacement throughout the year. 

Margot Arthur was a petite, black girl who was never without a smile on her face, except on the Quidditch pitch where she chucked all of her Hufflepuff qualities and more closely resembled someone of his own house. Harry watched her now, and hated the fact that her spirits seemed to have taken a hit. She was a spitfire, even Fred and George was afraid to mess with her, but each time one of her team did something good or went a little faster on a lap she would immediately look to her right where Harry knew Cedric used to be. 

Harry allowed his sore muscles to soak in the water. He had played pick up games with Sirius and Remus this summer, and while Remus was the more athletic of the two he was the most content with a book in front of a warm fire. Sirius was more likely to want to play a game, but his coordination was a little less than ideal. His eye sight even worse. Nine times out of ten, Harry would catch sight of the snitch before Sirius could get two feet off the ground. 

Still, sometimes he let him win. 

Harry looked up to the stain glass window, and prayed that neither it nor Moaning Myrtle would make an appearance. The last thing Harry needed was Myrtle ogling him in the water. Thoughts of the water brought back memories to this summer, and one masked night that still played predominately in Harry’s imagination. It was only at times like this, when he was alone, that Harry allowed himself to think that night at Blaise’s mother’s ball. Blonde hair. Mask. Bodies pressed close together. Clothes falling on the sand. A waiting boy in the water. 

Harry’s eyes snapped open. 

“It was Malfoy,” Harry said aloud, reminding himself and other parts of his body that those thoughts were not ones that he could entertain. 

“Malfoy who you once shared this bath with,” Harry’s mind continued. 

Harry thought back to that night, and the way that Malfoy’s body had changed from then to now. Harry knew that he himself looked different, too. Harry was glad that it seemed that Malfoy had yet to put two and two together, though he suspected that Blaise knew more than he was telling. Blaise somehow seemed to know everything. He and his mother were similar in that way. 

Harry cast tempus, and knew that he had to be getting back to the dormitory. Millicent would be waiting on him to go over their potions work before bed if she wasn’t in an alcove somewhere with Fred. That was Millicent’s new favorite occupation, but she was so happy that Harry hadn’t the heart to tease her about it. Or let’s be honest, he didn’t have the guts either. 

Harry turned prepared to get out of the water, when he heard something splash behind him. Harry sighed heavily assuming that Myrtle had come to take a peek after all. 

Harry began to turn around. “I’m sorry, Myrtle, but I’m honestly not…” 

Something sharp scraped his leg, and Harry shouted in surprise. “What the fu…” Then something grabbed his foot, and dragged him under the water. Harry opened his eyes, but the water had been tinted red with his blood, and he couldn’t see what had a hold of him. Harry kicked out with his other foot, but his foot met nothing but water. 

Harry shouted, but water rushed into his mouth. Finally, his foot met something solid, and Harry was able to kick himself free. In a hurry, he placed his hands on the side of the large bath, and tried to push himself up. A loud screeching filled the room then, and Harry lost his grip on the side of the tub in a hurry to protect his ears from the sound. He had heard this before. It was the merpeople. Harry turned, and faced the open water. There was nothing there. 

Harry tried to see underneath the water, but there were too many bubbles. He had to move slowly, slowly but quickly. He had to get out of the bath. His wand was with his clothes. If only he could make it to it, he could get out of here, and then tell someone. 

Harry counted to three in his head. One…two…he started to turn slowly. He was nearly out of the bath when something sharp grabbed his ankle. Harry pushed through, but the creature wouldn’t let go. Harry looked back, and could see the merperson’s tiny head but large mouth with its sharp teeth open trying actively to bite his ankle and drag him back under the water. 

With one more kick, Harry was able to free himself, but when he took a step, he slipped on the wet floor and promptly knocked himself out. 

When Harry awoke, he couldn’t tell you if it had been one minute or one hour. He reached for his wand then turned toward the water. It was empty. The bath had been completely emptied of water. There were no blood splatters on the floor or anywhere in the tub. The merperson was gone, and when Harry looked at the cut on his leg, there was nothing there. 

***

Harry decided to shake off the incident. There wasn’t any situation in which he could be the boy who cried “mermaid” as well as the boy who cried “voldemort”. Besides, being attacked by a merperson didn’t come close to some of the things that Harry had been through before. It must have just taken a wrong turn down a drain pipe. It wouldn’t be the first time that a creature roamed the Hogwarts pipes. 

Millicent was waiting for him when he got back, but she didn’t notice anything was wrong. Harry couldn’t blame her. He had been acting quite erratic lately. Between the beating and is strange dreams, Harry wasn’t getting a lot of sleep. Maybe that’s all the incident had been. Just a dream. 

That’s what he told himself as he climbed into bed. Everyone else was already asleep. And the sound of Goyle’s snoring began to lull him to sleep. 

Harry shut his curtains, and closed his eyes. 

“Potter,” a voice said, a familiar voice, and Harry sat up in bed, wand in hand, and threw open the curtains. Peter Pettigrew was standing outside of his bed curtains.

**Author's Note:**

> It's going to get a little bit dark eventually folks. So, be warned, but not anything that I feel the need to put warnings on. Nothing too bad. I will try and warn if I feel that it is necessary. 
> 
> I just want to thank everyone for sticking with me. And as always, thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate the love and support. This fandom is the best. All the love, C. 
> 
> And Jo Rowling, I still have that idea. Call me.


End file.
